


A Change of Perspective

by ktfranceebee



Category: Glee
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Bodyswap, Explicit Language, Homophobic Language, Humor, Internal Monologue, M/M, Masturbation, Romance, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktfranceebee/pseuds/ktfranceebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a confrontation with none other than Kurt Hummel, Dave wakes up the next morning in a body not entirely his own. Both boys learn it is best not to judge others until you've walked a mile in their shoes... Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One With the Switch

 

The Gods that stuck Dave on this earth and in this third period either had either the worst sense of humor - or were gay - because he was pretty sure they were fucking him in the ass right now.

Fifty minutes… Fifty goddamn minutes of cruel torture, having the same English class as Kurt Hummel; and like all of his classes, Dave sat in the very back. At least that way he wouldn't draw any attention to himself.

Well… _That_. And the fact that other people tend to complain when a mountain of a jock sat in front of them, blocking their view of the board. Not that any of his peers would have the gall to complain about it.

Even though the two had the same class together all year, and even a handful of classes together freshman and sophomore year, any extraneous moment spent in the presence of Hummel for the past week was a moment too long.

God dammit… Hummel and his fucking perfect hair and fucking perfect hands, probably texting that fucking perfect preppy kid. _'What the hell was that dude to him anyway?'_ Dave realized Kurt never did answer his question as to whether the pretty boy was his boyfriend.

Not that it mattered to Dave.

 _'What the fuck?'_ Dave thought as he watched Kurt's hands fly over the touch screen keyboard. He texted during this class _all_ the time. Hell, he lost count of the number of times their vulture of a teacher took his phone away from him after catching him texting, as well as the number of times his dad had to pick it up at the office after having it confiscated. But no… The teacher was completely oblivious to Hummel and that big obnoxious smile plastered on his face.

Because he was _perfect._

Dave looked abruptly at his teacher, who was standing in between a couple of desks in the middle of the classroom, even though he was only about ten percent sure that it was his name she just said. _'Good job, Dave. Make it_ totally _obvious to the whole class that you were just staring at Fancypants.'_

"'Sup?" Dave asked ever so eloquently as his teacher stared directly at him, as if he just committed a terrible crime. Jesus… _'What is this? A Private Catholic School?'_ He was daydreaming, not trying to read a Playboy behind his English book.

"' _What is up_ ,' David, is sonnets. Now could you answer the question, please?"

"Umm… Could you repeat the question?" It might have been his imagination, but Dave was fairly certain that he heard Kurt scoff as he slipped his cell phone into the pocket of his slacks as the teacher repeated the question unheard by Dave.

"The question, David, was: 'How many parts are there in a Petrarchan Sonnet?'"

"Uhh…" Dave mumbled. _'Petra-what? No, wait. Fuck! He knew this one… Why the hell did the old bat have to put him on the spot like that?'_

"Isn't it, like, fourteen? Or something?"

"Well, David." Dave was pretty tired of her addressing him this way. He was starting to like "Mr. Karofsky" better—made him sound like a badass. She continued, "It's nice to know that you were present for at least a small portion of today's lecture…"

Dave let a relieved sigh as she turned back around to walk back to her desk. _'Sweet…'_ He was off the hook.

"But unfortunately, fourteen is the number of _lines_ in a Petrachan sonnet, not the number of _parts._ "

_Hit and a miss._

"Would somebody like to enlighten our Mr. Karofsky on—Oh, yes! Kurt!" She pointed at him as he raised an unwavering hand. Of course Fancy would _love_ to enlighten him on something. Ah, well. At least he was back to "Mr. Karofsky" again.

"A Petrarchan sonnet consists of two parts. The first part, an octave, consists of eight lines, and has the rhyme scheme _abba abba_. The second part, a sestet, contains the last six lines and has the rhyme scheme _cdecde_ or _cdccdc_."

"Thank you, Mr. Hummel, for that accurate and concise explanation," the teacher praised him, her voice saccharin sweet, like a parent whose child just said their abc's correctly, and on the first try.

 _'Concise my ass_.' Hummel could've written a book about it.

Dave was half expecting Kurt to turn around in his seat and give him a belittling look, but it never came. And it probably had something to do with the creepy wink he sent his way at lunch the other day.

The smile that he was wearing as he answered the question disappeared as quickly as Dave did in the locker room after the kis—

 _'Oh God…'_ Dave shifted uncomfortably in his seat at his train of thought.

But no… Kurt just pulled his phone out of his pocket once the teacher turned back around to write something on the board, and resumed his typing on the screen.

Dave sighed, just barely resisting the urge to slam his head against the surface of his desk.

_'Only thirty-four minutes to go…'_

* * *

It was right before the final bell rang later that afternoon when Dave saw him again. He must not have noticed what Fancy was wearing earlier, which was odd of him, because really… Only Hummel could wear a suit on a normal school day and not look as awkward as the only person at a Halloween party with a costume on.

Dave may only have a C plus in English, but if he had to grade himself for super awesome ninja skills he would probably get an A because, despite his large stature and even bigger feet ( _was that even possible?),_ Hummel didn't notice him until after his friend retreated down the hallway, leaving the singer in his solitude.

"Question for ya…" Dave said without bothering with a greeting as he shut the boy's locker. A ' _Hey Kurt, how's it going?'_ most likely wasn't applicable, especially coming from him.

"You tell anyone about what happened…? How you… Kissed me?"

_'Nice one Dave. Because it was totally Hummel who jumped you in the locker room, right after he slapped his phone out of his hand and nearly succeeded in breaking his spine in two after that particularly nasty locker slam.'_

"You kissed _me_ , Karofsky—" Dave shushed him. _'Seriously?'_ What the hell was with gay guys and their obsession with getting their fellow homosexuals to come out, and in public too! Not that Dave was gay or anything… First the stairwell and now the hallway? Couldn't Hummel see all the people passing by him?

"…how hard this is for you, so no. I didn't tell anyone." Dave just barely managed to catch the rest of what Hummel was saying in an understanding voice.

"Good. You keep it that way. Because if you tell anyone else what happened, I am going to kill you." Of course that was a blatant lie. Like Dave could kill anyone. Hell, he couldn't even bring himself to kill that frog for dissections in anatomy last year—told his partner that it was against his religion.

Hummel's face was blank as he said this, and Dave saw his grayish-green eyes drift towards the right in their sockets, as if letting what Dave had just told him sink in.

And that's when Dave walked away, making sure to give Hummel his most intimidating stare as he passed him without making any bodily contact.

* * *

_God, he had to piss._

Dave walked into the bathroom, just around the corner from where he had his encounter with Kurt less than a minute ago. As he began to walk toward one of the stalls in the empty bathroom, he heard the door behind him open and close, and the click of the door locking was evident in the quiet room. Turning around, he glanced at the person that entered.

It was Hummel, his hand still resting on the lock of the door. And he looked livid.

"Let me guess: ' _Girl's_ _bathroom's_ _next door?'"_ Hummel asked snarkily. His cheeks were flushed in anger much like the last time they were alone in a room together, and as he tilted his head to the side in a condescending manner, his bangs fell little bit further onto his forehead.

"What do you think you're doing, Hummel?" Dave asked in a dangerously low voice. His fists clenched and unclenched furiously as his eyes darted back and forth, as if looking for an exit. Hummel was standing directly in front of the door and the one window in the bathroom was up too high. And not to mention a housecat probably couldn't get through that thing, not even with the help from a toilet plunger.

"You know, you would think that I had learned my lesson the last time we were _only_ in each other's company, but you know what. I'm not afraid of you," Kurt said, shaking his head sadly. "I pity you."

Dave glanced up and down Kurt's person. _Was he fucking insane? Didn't he just threaten his life?_

"Oh, and by the way," Kurt began, he held up his hand which was holding his phone. "If you try anything I won't hesitate to call the police. I am going to talk to you, and _you are_ going to listen to me."

"What the hell do you want?" Dave asked, caught between a rock and a hard place; or rather, Kurt Hummel and an automatic hand dryer.

Kurt shook his head, his eyes narrowing.

"Why are you doing this?" He spat. "Does what you do to me _really_ make you feel any better about yourself? What are you so afraid of?"

Hummel should really stop asking questions.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dave tried to sound intimidating, but failed miserably.

"Are you really so afraid of your reputation being tarnished that you'd sacrifice any happiness in your life, just so you can get through the next year of high school and graduate as... What? _"Most likely to be_ feared _…?" "Most likely to have a secret rendezvous with their pool-boy while married at the age of forty…?"_ Kurt supplied.

"Shut… The fuck… _Up,_ Hummel," Dave said in a low voice, rounding on him with a raised fist.

"No," Kurt said. If any fear flickered across his face at his threat, it was gone. "I am done keeping quiet. And you can put that down." Kurt said calmly, pointing at Dave's hand. "We've already seen how far "The Fury" got you last time."

It took Dave all the muscles in his jaw to keep his chin from hitting the dirty, germ-covered tile floor of the boy's restroom.

"You have it so easy, you know… Even if you did come out… Who would even attempt to tease you about being gay? You can easily take anybody down in this school. But not me… I have to put up with your _shit_ ," Kurt practically spat out in his face. Dave couldn't remember a time he'd ever heard Hummel curse, "Every single day. And as much as it hurts, at least at the end of the day I know that I was true to myself."

"What the fuck do you know, Hummel?" Dave snapped. "You act like you know me and my life. You… You have no idea how easy you have it."

"You think that I have it easy?" Kurt laughed mockingly. "How wrong you are."

"Whatever. I'm done, Hummel. Now get the hell out of my way." Dave pushed past Kurt. He attempted to ignore the tingle that coursed through his shoulder as he brushed past the shorter teen.

"Fine," Kurt said, his voice full of malice as Dave turned the lock to the door. "But you're _done_ bullying me."

Dave turned his head and sneered as he held the door open halfway, "Yeah. Whatever you say, Hummel."

* * *

Dave went to sleep later that night after having a particularly quiet dinner with his father, not that that was unusual by any means. Dave was wondering if he was coming down with something. He picked at his food until his father starting sending him questioning glances. So his father wouldn't ask him any questions he would take a few bites of his mashed potatoes every couple of minutes, trying to ignore the chills traveling through his body and the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Deciding that his homework could wait until the morning, he went up to his bedroom and left the lights off when he entered. Without bothering to change out of his clothes, he plopped on his bed and went to sleep.

* * *

The next day when Dave woke up, he was surprised by how much better he felt. For one, he felt like he just experienced the best night's sleep he ever had in his life, and not to mention that the pain in his shoulder as a result from a bad tackle a couple days ago seemed to have disappeared completely.

Sitting up and crawling out of his bed, Dave yawned, stretching his hands above him while curling his toes until he heard them crack. Opening in eyes, however, immediately brought back the sickening feeling from the night before.

Dave could feel his breath catch in his chest at what he saw.

_He wasn't in his own room…_

Where the fuck _was_ he?

Dave attempted to calm himself from having what was beginning to feel like an anxiety attack. Perhaps that could explain why he felt so well rested… Maybe somebody snuck into his room in the middle of the night and drugged him and kidnapped him, and now he was in… What? In some weird, modernized, and rather stylish basement of his kidnapper?

Spotting a door that could only lead to a bathroom Dave walked over towards it while observing his surroundings cautiously. He _was_ in a basement, that was for sure, as he could see a set of stairs leading up to a higher level of the building, and from the two narrow windows he could see what looked like a lawn.

Cautiously tapping the knob to the door to make sure there wasn't a trap set up, Dave opened the mysterious door and looked on the wall until he found a light switch. The lights in the bathroom came to life as soon as Dave flicked them on. For the most part, it was a pretty normal bathroom, if not excessively clean and decorated in shades of light gray, black and white, much like the adjoining room. Upon the counter was what looked like every brand of hair care product and lotion sold in the grocery store.

Dave walked further into the bathroom, investigating his surroundings when he couldn't help the high pitched, almost feminine scream that was expelled from his—no—not _his_ lips.

Because as Dave stared into the mirror, there staring back at him was the terrified face of Kurt Hummel.

 


	2. The One With the Phone Call

 

"Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck…" Was all Dave could say as he stared back at his— _the_ —reflection before him. He instantly regretted the words that slipped past his lips in his moment of panic, however, because apparently it wasn't enough that he had to be _stuck_ in Hummel's body, but he had to _sound_ like him too.

Dave tried to control his breathing as he leaned in toward the mirror over the sink so that he could study his reflection up close. Tentatively, Dave poked the squishy flesh of his—Kurt's—cheek.

How was it possible for someone's skin to be that soft?

Dave straightened his posture and closed his eyes, running his hands through the messy, foreign hair on the top his head and pulled at it with great chagrin. Without having enough time to make sense of the situation, he heard the door open from above, followed by urgent footsteps that bounded down the stairs.

"Kurt? Dude, are you alright?" Dave gulped thickly as he felt his heart rattle against his sternum like an agitated bird in a cage. He stared past the threshold of the bathroom and into what Dave now realized was Kurt Hummel's bedroom. Standing there was Finn Hudson. The tall teen was clad in plaid pajama pants that were a couple of inches too short and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt. Dave wondered for a moment what Finn was doing in Hummel's home whilst wearing pajamas, but then he quickly remembered hearing Hudson talk about how his mom and Kurt's dad were seeing each other and were now living in the same house.

At least it was out of obligation to their parents and not by choice. It was a much better theory than the two of them having a _slumber party._

"Kurt," Finn said once again, considering that Dave had yet to say anything. "My mom said she could have sworn she heard you scream. And… _Ugh_ … You kind of look like that time when we walked in on our parents making out."

"I—" Dave started. Even just that one spoken syllable was soft and melodious, quite unlike his normal voice (and he wouldn't call his voice deep by any means, but compared to Hummel, he was Barry Freaking White). He could _do_ this.

_'Just make up something so Hudson will leave.'_

"I just realized I'm… Out of hairspray," Dave said, cringing at the familiar, yet foreign, voice in his ears.

"Kurt, there's like, four there," Finn said frowning as he looked around Dave. Dave turned around, looking down at the counter.

' _Fuck,'_ Dave thought, sighing exasperatedly.

"I'm out of my _favorite_ hairspray," Dave sighed. He knew by Finn's gassy infant look that what he said the right thing.

"Well, I'm sure if you ask my mom she can pick some up on the way home from work. By the way, dude, you might want to get ready for school. You overslept," Finn said before smiling sheepishly and padding back up the stairs.

' _Overslept? School doesn't start for another hour and a half!'_ But then he remembered that this was _Fancy_ he was talking about; it probably took him an hour and a half to do his hair.

So apparently freaking out wasn't the best idea. He may not know what the fuck was going on, but Finn was already acting suspicious of his behavior so his best option was to just think this through.

He was stuck in Fancy's body…

' _Umm…'_

And that was about all of the ideas Dave had.

' _Maybe this is just a terrible dream and I'll wake up and everything will be fan-fucking-tastic,'_ Dave thought sarcastically, simultaneously pinching the pale skin of his forearm. ' _Nothing.'_

So this wasn't a dream.

Dave stumbled out of the bathroom and sat back down upon the bed.

' _Shit,'_ he thought, running his hands over the grey satin comforter of Kurt's bed, realization hitting him like a 200-pound linebacker.

He totally slept in Hummel's bed.

He had to stop himself from thinking what a shame it was that Kurt couldn't be present at the ti—

' _Wait_ …' If he was in Kurt's body that must mean that Kurt was in…

Dave's eyes landed on a phone that was on the end table next to the bed and he lunged for it. God, he was an idiot. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

With shaking hands Dave entered a phone number and waited impatiently for someone to pick up on the other line.

* * *

"Ughhh…" Kurt groaned, burrowing his head deeper into the pillow upon hearing what sounded like the generic version of his phone's ringtone going off, leading him to believe that whoever it was that was calling him this early in the morning was not on his contacts list. He rolled over, trying to ignore the tinny noise and wondered to himself since when his pillow smelled of _Old Spice_ , rather than his usual _Hugo Boss, Eau de Toilette_ spray. He was also beginning to develop an uncomfortable knot in his back, feeling as though the strangely uncomfortable mattress he was sleeping on was stuffed full of April Rhodes' broken dreams.

Kurt realized that whoever it was that was calling him wasn't planning on giving up anytime soon, at least not until somebody picked up. So snatching the phone up, he blindly pressed the talk button without even opening his eyes, in fear that whatever amount of sun that was streaming through the windows would set his retinas on fire.

"Hello?"

' _Well, that's strange,'_ Kurt thought to himself. Even though Kurt had just been awakened from his slumber, he couldn't remember a time where he woke up and the voice he heard didn't sound like a prepubescent boy… Or a girl.

" _Whatever you do, Hummel… Don't freak out,"_ said the person on the other line.

Kurt's eyes snapped open and he rubbed his eyelids vigorously with the thumb and forefinger of the hand not holding the phone.

' _Why was that voice so familiar? And why are my hands so rough?_ ' He'd have to remember to put an extra coat of lotion on after he got out of the shower.

"Who is this? Why are you calling me so early in the—" Kurt trailed off as he pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the phone in his hand, just barely peeping through one half closed eyelid.

' _This… This isn't my phone,'_ Kurt thought completely and utterly confused. He stared at the phone number on the screen. There was no name attached to it, but it wasn't necessary.

He knew his own phone number when he saw it.

* * *

"Come on, come on, Hummel. Pick up the damn phone," Dave murmured. Nothing made sense anymore.

' _Stop the world, I want to get off,_ ' Dave thought to himself as he inhaled a shaky breath. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Maybe he should just wait until he got to the school to see if Hummel was there. But it was too late to change his mind, as Kurt had already picked up the phone.

" _Hello?"_ A voice said on the other line. The person on the other end sounded disoriented, as though Dave had awakened them.

"Whatever you do, Hummel… Don't freak out." It sounded like something out of a terrible horror movie; but that's what he had woken up to this morning, right?

" _Who is this? Why are you calling me so early in the—"_ Dave heard silence on the other end.

"Hummel?"

' _I swear to God, if he hung up…'_ Dave thought. _'I'll shave his head.'_ And it wasn't his normally short hair that he was talking about, but the soft and shiny strands that were currently tickling his forehead. It's not like Dave would have to deal with any embarrassment if he _did_ decide go through with that. It's not like he was in his _own_ body.

" _What—What's going on? Where am I? Why do I… What the hell is wrong with my voice?"_

Dave wanted to ask the same thing. It was weird hearing himself on the other line. It was that same awkward feeling when one hears themselves on a home video.

"Hummel, I haven't the slightest clue what is going on but… Uhh… I think you better go look in the mirror or something. There's a mirror over the dresser." He added quietly.

Dave was fairly certain that he heard the shuffling of footsteps along with the sound of "his" heavy panicked breathing. It didn't take too long before he heard a yelp (and he hoped he would never have to hear that pathetic sound coming from him again) and then a clunk, and then silence.

"Dammit, Hummel. You got to be kidding me." Dave murmured again, hoping that Kurt only dropped the phone and didn't pass out and hit his head on something. He may have said that empty threat to him the other day, but he'd much rather not have Fancy's blood on his hands - or his floor, rather.

" _I… Is this some kind of sick joke? Give me my body back, Karofsky. This isn't funny in the least,"_ Kurt said, with the deep, rumbling voice of Dave barely controlled with anger, but the eloquence and the manner of speech entirely Kurt's.

Dave scoffed, but glad that the singer was smart enough to assume that it was him on the other end. That would make for weird introductions: _'Hey, this is Dave Karofsky. I may be a total dick to you, but it seems our bodies have been swapped. Sorry for the inconvenience.'_

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Dave retorted, beyond pissed. "It's obvious that this is your fault, Hummel. Let me guess… As I was leaving the bathroom yesterday you pulled some gay voodoo shit on me when my back was turned?"

" _Oh, you are so full of it, Karofsky! Like I'd_ want _to be stuck in your rhinoceros of a body."_ Kurt spat, sounding very much like he would just _love_ to hang up the phone or chuck it out the window. Dave sincerely hoped he wouldn't resort to the latter.

"Bullshit, Hummel. I've seen you wear that shirt to school: The one with those lesbian witches on the front. It's obvious you're in some sort of queer cult—"

" _Are you freaking kidding me?"_ Kurt exploded. " _Karofsky, you idi—"_ Dave somehow managed to hear Kurt take a deep calming breath through the sound of his teeth grinding together. "No. You know what? I'm not even going to justify a response to that. Just… Just do me a favor and meet me at the school in an hour."

"Hummel? Hummel, wait—Dammit!" Dave cursed as he heard the other line go completely silent, and the question on his lips died. He looked down at the body dressed in a long sleeved, navy-blue pajama shirt and matching pants. What the hell was wrong with Hummel? Dave was certain that the sleep attire of one Kurt Hummel was halfway between that of a prude chick and an 80-year old man. He looked down at the unnecessary amount of buttons trailing down his front, before tilting his head up at the ceiling as if it was that which did him a disservice. Sighing, he began to fumble with the plastic, round nuisances attached to the fuzzy fabric.

"God, kill me now," Dave groaned.

 


	3. The One With the Horrible Outfit

 

Kurt was beginning to believe that this was meant to be his punishment for calling God a buxomly, laser shooting, moon dwelling dwarf. He could be tied up and forced to watch someone burn Judy Garland records and, as unnerving a scenario that may be, it still wouldn't compare to this, because being in the body of one Dave Karofsky was greater than or equal to spending eternity in the ninth circle of hell.

There weren't many people present as Kurt walked down the halls of McKinley, considering school didn't start for another half hour, which appealed to Kurt. At least that way, when he and Karofsky met, there would be a lesser chance of having their conversation eavesdropped upon.

It was astounding, though. Despite there being an insignificant amount of people passing him at this hour, the results were the same no matter who he passed. Jacob Ben Israel literally cowered as he walked by, putting his notebook up to cover his face. Kurt wasn't sure if it was because he was attempting to go unnoticed or to protect his face from any eminent beatings. And then walking a little further Kurt actually saw someone, nerdy looking enough to be the president of the AV club, duck around a corner in the hopes of avoiding him altogether.

' _Wow,'_ Kurt pondered, watching the person flee down the hallway. _'This is depressing.'_

How could Karofsky tolerate this type of existence? Kurt began to feel pity for the jock before remembering—right as he walked past his own locker—that Karofsky wasn't the victim.

 _He_ was.

Karofsky was the one to bring this sort of fear based reputation by terrorizing people and dousing them with subfreezing, rainbow colored drinks (oh, the irony… leave it to the closet case to be the one to gay-atize the halls of WMHS). And now Kurt was going to have to deal with his pariah persona for who knows how long.

Kurt was beginning to wonder where Karofsky had gotten to because as he looked at the jock's cell phone that he had brought with him, he saw that the Neanderthal was already ten minutes late. Kurt couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of Karofsky getting lost on the way to school. It wasn't likely, but Kurt wouldn't totally put it past him. He just hoped that Karofsky didn't get in a car accident… For his _car's_ sake.

Kurt had taken to pacing down the same hallway where his locker was stationed as he waited for Karofsky to show up. It wouldn't bode well for Kurt to just loiter in front of it _as_ Dave Karofsky and for one of his Glee Club friends show up. Kurt remembered the rock that Mercedes had thrown at the window of his Navigator the year previous when she thought he had a crush on Rachel. Kurt couldn't begin to fathom what she would do to Karofsky if she saw him hanging out by his locker. Kurt just hoped Karofsky had a high pain tolerance.

* * *

Kurt liked to think that he had had an out-of-body experience before. That was, after all, how he felt every time he was on stage performing in Glee. He would be so lost within the singing and the dancing that he felt entirely outside himself; but only as he came upon his locker for what felt like the twentieth time was he able to give a literal definition to "having an out-of-body experience."

This… This was just _too much._

"Oh my God," Kurt said, his jaw dropping in a way that would be almost endearing if it wasn't on Karofsky's face. "What did you _do_?

The only response Dave offered him was a growl as he stomped towards his body, the small hands of Kurt balled up in anger.

"This… This is _completely_ insane," Kurt said. He was quite literally looking down upon a rather sweaty and disheveled version of himself.

"Fuck you, Hummel." Dave spat. Kurt knew Dave had a foul mouth, but Kurt had yet to say anything remotely insulting to Karofsky— _yet_ —so he allowed the jock to elaborate as he continued to stare down at himself with wide eyes.

"You wanna know what the fuck is completely insane?" Kurt hated to admit it, but seeing himself mad like this was rather scary, if not in a nonthreatening kind of way, considering the way he towered over himself while in Karofsky's body. It was much like being hissed at by a de-clawed cat: Frightening until you realize the creature can only swipe at you with a furry limb. But knowing that it was _Karofsky_ in _his body_ , and _Karofsky_ that was quite literally poking his own chest was so comical and crazy that Kurt felt like he was going to burst into tears at the sheer madness of it all.

_And why was he so sweaty?_

"The fact that your _Lincoln fucking Navigator_ has a fucking _stick shift_. I didn't even know those came in manual transmission. So thanks for the heads up, Fancy, I'll be sure to remember that when I have to _walk home_."

"I…. It was… Custom," Kurt said in between snickers until he finally clapped a large hand to his mouth. "You… Don't tell me you _walked here_ , Karofsky." That was it. Kurt doubled over. He was laughing so hard that he felt like a rib was going to pierce his side. "Oh, my goodness! This keeps getting better and better! _The Dave Karofsky_ doesn't know how to drive stick shift? That is surely going to cost you some man-points, Hamhock."

"Dude, shut the hell up, before someone hears you. And who the hell asks for manual transmission anyway?"

"Hummel men, that's who," Kurt said in the completely mortified voice of Dave. "It's the ultimate driving experience! Have you any idea how awkward it was driving your 2005 Toyota Tacoma to school? I kept reaching for stick forgetting that I didn't have to switch gears; you wouldn't believe the amount of times I almost put your truck in reverse while driving over here."

"Well, I'm sorry if driving my truck was in anyway uncomfortable for you, Hummel, while I had to _walk_ a mile and a half to the school," Dave said, his voice gradually getting higher as he vented his frustrations.

' _Yeah, uncomfortable in that fact that I couldn't stand breathing in the sweaty football, gym bag stank,'_ Kurt thought dangerously.

"Yes, and I will thank you for having me come to school looking like a hot mess. But I can't be completely ungrateful, can I?" Kurt put a finger to his chin in thought and a hand on his hip in an entirely un-Karofsky sort of way. "After all, you burn all those calories for me and I so much didn't have to lift a finger, so to speak. By the way, would it hurt you to try to make me look the least bit respectable? I mean, did you even bother putting any product in my—your—hair? And…" Kurt grimaced, looking disdainfully upon himself. "I don't even remember buying that hoodie."

"Dude, are you seriously going to stand there and bitch about what the hell you look like? If I put any of that crap in your hair it would have been gone by the time I got here." Under his breath, Dave huffed, "And you said _I_ sweat too much."

"And that's beside the point," Dave continued. "What the fuck are we going to do about this… Situation? I didn't even _shower_ this morning, and you're worried about what my—your—freaking hair looks like! How long is this going to last?"

"You think that's gross? New flash, Hamhock. These clothes," Kurt motioned at the clothes that he was wearing, "Are the same clothes that I woke up in, in case you didn't notice. Apparently you haven't received the memo about this great invention… They're called pajamas!"

"Maybe if you stop bitching for like, ten seconds, Hummel, _maybe_ we can actually accomplish something."

"Fine," Kurt said, raising a hand to smooth his hair out of habit, only to forget his long locks were absent. Dropping his hand in annoyance, Kurt said with a huff, "Well, I can't think of anything, and I'm sure the smallish brain I'm attached to has nothing to do with it. So why don't you tell me what you think we should do, hmm?"

"Well, I… I was thinking…" Dave trailed off, perhaps wondering whether he should let Kurt in on his plan.

"What? Tell me," Kurt said, positively glowing at the idea of getting out of Karofsky's body.

"Okay, fine. What if we were to… I dunno… Run at each other, like, really fast?" Kurt's face fell and he stared blankly at Dave, as if he had asked him something as incredulous as whether it was okay to wear brown shoes with a black belt.

"That has to be the most idiotic thing I have ever heard come out of my mouth."

Dave blushed and indignantly replied, "Well, I don't see you coming up with any bright ideas, Hummel. Why don't you try thinking of something?"

"Maybe we should just tell someone what's happened. We're obviously not going to figure this out on our own! What about Mr. Schuester…? Or Miss Pillsbury?"

"Christ, Hummel! That's even worse than my idea!" Dave ran a hand over his face in frustration. "The most that lady would do for us is hand us a pamphlet titled _"So You've Finally Gone Insane"_ and offer to take us to the nearest asylum."

"I suppose you're right," Kurt sighed, pursing his lips. "And not to mention that I am too young and too beautiful to be institutionalized."

"Oh, why thank you, Fancy," Dave said cockily, raising an eyebrow and placing one of Kurt's elegant hands on his chest.

"I wasn't talking about you, you… Dick." Kurt finished lamely.

"Nice," Dave said, rolling his eyes. "Since it's settled that we keep our little _issue_ ," he made air quotes with the index and middle finger of either hand, "to ourselves, you better learn to…" Suddenly Dave trailed off with a faraway look in his eyes as though he was staring at something down the hallway behind Kurt, and then he starting coughing loudly and abruptly into the crook of his elbow.

"Hudson…" _Cough._ "Coming up…" _Cough_. "Behind you…" _Cough._ It was Kurt's turn to roll his eyes.

And people thought _he_ was a drama queen.

"Hey, Kurt! I was just wanted to…" Finn's mouth formed into a perfect "o" shape that usually happened Finn was overexerting himself, or in this case, overexerting his brain, and held the expression for at least ten seconds. He looked back and forth between Kurt and Dave, wondering perhaps why the two of them were talking, or better yet, since when Dave learned to talk with his mouth and not with his fists.

"Ummm... Kurt? Are you alright, dude?" Kurt had to give Karofsky a wide-eyed look while nodding enthusiastically and from behind Finn before Dave could even remember to respond.

"Huh… Oh! What's up, Hud—Finn?" Dave asked way too awkwardly to not be suspicious.

"Is that…? Kurt?" Finn pinched the fabric of the hoodie upon Dave's arm as though inspecting it. "Why are you wearing my sweater from like… The sixth grade?"

"I… What?" Dave asked dumbly. Oh, the money Kurt would pay to see these two silly boys locked in a room together. Or on a hidden camera television show; the amount of hilarity in both scenarios would be endless.

"Yeah," Finn said, in recollection. "Remember, my mom and I were going through some old clothes of ours that we brought with us when we moved in to see what stuff we wanted to throw out and what we were going to donate."

"Oh, right, well… It fit so I thought…"

"That he could be the charity," Kurt butted in. He knew that he was essentially poking fun at himself, but this was just too much fun.

"Hey, shut it, Karofsky," Finn said, rounding on Dave. "Leave Kurt alone, alright? He's never done anything to you. If you feel like talking smack why don't you save it for on the football field after school?"

Kurt's face fell. "F-football?" Kurt asked, his eyes wide with horror. _Football._

Wasn't that that really scary sport? With the running and the sweating, and the giant grunting elephants in helmets running directly at…

"Uh, _yeah_ Karofsky. In case you haven't forgotten, you're our right guard." Finn shook his head before clapping the slender shoulder of Kurt and walking away.

"Thanks, Finny," Dave said, laughing joyously and waving goodbye to him in a very girlish manner. Now Kurt couldn't say that he was the only one that was enjoying this.

Code word: _Was._

"How am I supposed to play football?" Kurt asked, deadpanned and his voice hoarse.

"Aw… Don't worry about it, Fancy. I'm sure in my body there's a much smaller chance of bodily harm… Or death. Whatever comes first."

"You know what, Karofsky." Kurt said as a smile began growing on Karofsky's face so quickly and unnaturally that Kurt would have thought an emotion like that would have been painful. "I have been looking at this entire situation from a "glass half-empty" perspective. I mean," he leaned down further towards Karofsky, the side of his face right up next to his so that it was much like looking in a very lifelike mirror. "I'm sure I'll be _so_ worn out by the end of today that I'll be glad that I won't have to sing in _Glee Club_ tomorrow." Kurt said so sweetly that Dave felt like he was getting a toothache.

"See you in class, _Hummel_ ," Kurt said as he turned around and strutted down the hall in a way that could only be described as Elle Woods-esque.

Dave could only face Kurt's locker, and pound Kurt's flawless forehead against it, each time he connected with the cold metal he enunciated.

"Fuck… My… Life."

 


	4. The One With All of the Accessorizing

 

"Come on, you son of a bitch," Dave growled as he rattled and pulled on the stubbornly unmoving combination lock. Dave let out a slew of other colorful swear words as he turned the dial right, left and then right again, coming up unsuccessful for the fourth time.

"Fuck!" Dave yelled causing some short little freshmen to jump and scurry past him. He pounded the metal door of the locker as hard as he could with his puny Kurt fists. Dave gasped, his eyes widening as he looked down at his flawless, milky white hands that were already beginning to redden from where he struck the metal. He bit his lip as tears stung his eyes.

" _Fuck_ …" Dave hissed, flailing his hands around in pain.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Hummel?" Dave mumbled. He intended the question to be for Kurt himself even though he was nowhere in Dave's vicinity. He first rubbed his left hand and then his right, ignoring how silky the singers hands felt in comparison to his much more athletically worn ones.

Leave it to Hummel to be cursed with the pain tolerance of a baby pigeon.

"Umm, baby? You okay?"

"Waah?" Dave jumped and turned to face Kurt's best friend; the black chick. He placed a hand over his heart which was going a hundred miles an hour. He placed his other arm against the rows of lockers, leaning on them.

' _What's her name again? Jones. Jones…?"_

"Oh—um… _Hey_ …" Dave dragged out as he straightened his posture, his heartbeat since returning to its normal rate. They have been in the same school for almost three years and Dave couldn't remember her name.

' _Mariah…? Monica…?'_

"Girlfriend?" Dave offered, grimacing and Mercedes laughed easily, shaking her head.

"Kurt, what in the world is goin' on with you this morning?" She asked, crossing her arms in front of her in both amusement and in disbelief.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Dave huffed in what he hoped was a very Kurt-like fashion. He attempted to be nonchalant as he turned back to his locker in the hopes that she would just—oh hell… This was _Hummel's_ locker.

Sometimes Dave had to question his stupidity. How unfair was it that people like Finn Hudson could be complete idiots yet still come off as completely charming at the same time?

' _It's a good thing I'm in Hummel's body then… Wait.'_ He shook his head in order to clear it of the unwarranted thoughts.

' _Fuck.'_ How in the hell was he supposed to get his shit out of his locker without it looking like Hummel was mugging him?

"Seriously, Kurt," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I was standing like, four feet away when you slammed your fists against your locker. And another thing… What the hell are you wearing?" She asked, raking his form with her eyes and laughing so much that her shoulders were shaking. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd let Finn choose your outfit." She snickered.

Dave sighed, "Listen…"

' _Mercedes!'_ Dave thought in an epiphany. _'What the hell? Had she been wearing that necklace the whole time?'_ He spotted the jewelry hanging around her neck that had her name on it.

"Mercedes, I just had a rough morning. I um—I woke up late and now… Now I can't get my locker open."

_'Shit, what a lame excuse.'_

"Well, we all know how ancient this school is. Your locker is probably just stuck. You can see about getting the custodian to put some WD-40 on it, or something." Mercedes smiled reassuringly. "I'll let you borrow some pen and paper for today, don't worry."

"Thanks, Mercedes, I really appre—"

"But!" Mercedes said interrupting Dave as she held a finger up. Dave looked at her fearfully, believing himself to be found out. "That does _not_ excuse this hot mess of an outfit you are wearing," she said cracking up once more. Dave chuckled along uncomfortably as she began to fumble with the scarf around her neck.

"Boy, I remember when we first we met and you told me I looked like a technicolor zebra."

' _Burn,'_ Dave thought. It seemed that Kurt's bitchiness wasn't only reserved for him.

"Now whoever thought we'd see the day where you had a fashion emergency that didn't involve slushies and stained clothing? Oh hey, Tina!" She called to the Goth chick that Kurt was usually seen hanging out with.

"Hey, Mercedes, morning Kur—ohh, my gosh…" She groaned as she covered her mouth with her black, nail polish covered fingertips.

"As you can see, we have a fashion crisis going down in this school, and his name is Kurt Elizabeth Hummel," Mercedes said as she made to lasso Dave with the fabric in her hands.

' _Elizabeth? Really?'_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Dave said coming to his senses as he held up his hands in self defense and began to back away from the two girls slowly. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like we're doing, Kurt?" Mercedes asked frowning in confusion. She shook the material in her hands. "Accessorizing!"

"I… Really guys. I'll be okay. It's just one day," Dave said in a reassuring voice, taking a step back as if the girls were trying to corner him like he was a rabbit to a couple of wolves.

"Kurt, you _really_ need to stop sitting next to Brett in English," Tina said. "I think he's giving you a contact high from whatever it is he's been smoking."

"Yeah, and chillax, baby. This scarf _may_ be checkered but it has blue in it, so there's no way it will clash."

"Yeah," Tina said, nodding her head in agreement. "And you know what? Here." She took off her old-man-looking cap that she was wearing. "You can wear this too."

"Girl, that is _perfect_ ," Mercedes gushed, as she put the hat on Dave's—Kurt's—head, so that it tilted to the side just so. When she was satisfied with the result she moved away and Mercedes proceeded to wrap Dave's now slender neck with the scarf. When she was done both of their mouths were hanging open rather girlishly as they clenched their respectable fists in front of their chests, shaking them slightly as they squealed, teeth bared.

"Girl, we are _too_ good. Would you look at that work of art?" Mercedes said jubilantly as she held her hand up, palm facing Tina, so that the other girl could high-five her. "We really do spoil you sometimes, Kurt."

"That's okay, though." Tina said. "It's all in the name of fashion. So what do you think, Kurt?" They stared, waiting expectantly.

" Yaaay," Dave said none too enthusiastically, but held his best jazz-hands out to his sides, hoping his reaction would appease Hummel's fashion-forward friends. The girls clapped their hands as Dave pressed his lips together.

"Alright boy, let's get to class; we wouldn't want to be late to first period," Mercedes said, and both girls linked their arms with Dave's as they hauled him to his first class much like a prisoner on the way to the guillotine.

' _Oh… College Algebra._ ' Dave remembered, already knowing what Kurt's first class was, as well as who he could expect to see there.

* * *

Kurt sat in the back of the math class parked in what he hoped was the Neanderthal's usual seat. It wasn't until Kurt walked into the classroom that he realized that he had only entered this class out of habit and was thankful when he remembered that Karofsky was in this class as well. It was difficult to keep track of what classes they had together, considering that fact that other usually sat in the back of the classroom.

Kurt also remembered that there was no way of getting into his locker to retrieve the stuff without his fierce friends going all—what was it that Puck called it? Oh!—'Thunder-dome' (whatever that meant) on who they thought was Karofsky.

But that didn't bother Kurt in the least. He couldn't begin to fathom the idea of Karofsky actually taking notes, so he didn't think it would matter much if he were to slack off for just one day.

Soon, people were beginning to file in the classroom and their teacher was already at the front of the class ready to mark tardy anyone that came in late. And only seconds before the bell rand did Kurt see, well… Himself… Walk through the door.

' _Thank God,'_ Kurt thought. There would be hell to pay if Karofsky tarnished Kurt's perfect attendance.

" _Tich_ …" The annoyed sound passed Kurt's 'Dave Karofsky' lips before he could stop it. He looked up once more in the hopes of being able to forever ingrain the sight before him into his mind.

It made no difference to Kurt that it appeared to be him, and not Dave Karofsky, that was currently being squished between his two best girlfriends, wearing a flat-cap and rainbow colored scarf apparently against his will. Kurt continued to snigger, his arms crossed as he reclined lazily in his desk chair trying to retain some of his carefully constructed _badass_ attitude. Not that Karofsky was a badass, really. Kurt could assume the proper term as "douchenozzle."

 _'Wow.'_ He really needed to stop stealing Puck's vocabulary.

As Dave and the two girls walked to their seats in the front of the classroom, Dave's eyes met Kurt's and Dave gave Kurt what was clearly a "laugh one more time and I won't moisturize for a week" look. Kurt merely shook his head.

He didn't know how long the two of them were going to be stuck like this, but to hell if he wasn't going to find some amusement in it along the way.

* * *

' _Arrrgh!'_

It was the constant sound that Dave heard in his head; him screaming endlessly, wishing that he could just leap onto the chair that he was sitting in at the front of the classroom and just belt out all of his frustrations without caring if he caused a scene.

All he wanted to do was take off this stupid ass scarf and ugly ass hat and chuck it at Hummel's face _; his_ face. Whatever… It was Hummel either way, and it annoyed the crap out of him how amused he was with this situation.

Instead, he just pulled at the constricting material around his throat and scratch and his head, pouting as he listened to the teacher drone on about polynomials and synthetic division.

' _Hummel is way too spoiled,'_ Dave thought. Even though Dave wasn't one to abide by Figgin's rules, he was pretty sure he heard their principal say something about the new 'no hat' policy at the school. Anyone else would have been sent straight to his office.

About to die from boredom and sheer uneasiness, Dave pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Kurt.

-I can still hear you laughing, Hummel. Keep it up and I'll make due on that promise.-

Dave pressed the 'send' button, clenching and unclenching his jaw, not caring what Hummel's dentist bill was going to look like once they got their body's back considering Dave had a terrible teeth grinding habit.

-Your logic never ceases to astound me. And would that be before or after we are back in our respectable bodies?—

Dave felt a growl growing in the back of his throat.

-I'm patient—

-You have the patience of a four year old. This is why you could only make it, oh, twelve minutes into the class period before you started to distract me from my learning.—

Dave could taste the sassiness in the text and he wondered when his Dad starting buying bitch-flakes, because he was pretty sure that's what Hummel had for breakfast before he left his house this morning.

-Shut up, Hummel, and give me your schedule and room numbers so I know where the hell I need to go after this class.—

-It seems I've struck a nerve. :] –

Dave didn't have to wait any more than a minute before he received a second text from Kurt.

-U.S. Hist (Rm. 1801), English (as I'm sure you've already figured out), French (Rm. 2002), Anatomy (Rm. 2102), and Art (Rm. 1307).-

Dave quickly typed out a text in reply to Kurt's with his classes as well, in the order of Spanish, English, U.S. History, Psychology, and Advanced Placement Chemistry. It wasn't long before he received a reply from Kurt.

-Thanks, I suppose… Wait…You're taking AP Chemistry?-

-Yeah, what of it?— Dave texted back with a frown on his face.

-Nothing, I was just… Surprised, is all.-

-Whatever Hummel. Stop texting me. I'm trying to learn something here.—

-Jerk.-

Dave smirked triumphantly at being able to, once again, piss off Hummel

Maybe this wouldn't be _so_ bad.

 


	5. The One With the Assignment

After the bell rang, signaling the end of first period, Dave and Kurt were required to go their separate ways until their third period class… Not that Kurt would have it any other way.

The dilemma that Kurt was faced with, however, was that he felt more comfortable when Dave was in his presence, or at the very least under his watchful eye. At least that way he knew the jock wasn't getting him into any shenanigans. He would be surprised if Karofsky didn't feel the same way. Kurt wouldn't blame Karofsky for any paranoia he may be suffering considering how effortless it would be to sneak into the music room and 'borrow' a few items belonging to the Theater Club. Kurt could _easily_ enter the English classroom decked out in a fluffy pink boa and copious amounts of glitter and thus get his revenge on the Meathead for months of locker slams. But there were two notions that prevented Kurt from fulfilling this gratifying act. One... He wasn't about to sink as low as Karofsky and resort to an act as childish as payback. And two... They both agreed it best if they just laid-low until they were able to make sense of their situation.

Kurt was grateful that he was able to get through Dave's second period Spanish class without incident, because in all honesty…? His knowledge of Spanish began at _Hol_ a and ended with the gorgeousness that was Enrique Inglesias. Thankfully, Mr. Schue merely lectured the entire class period and, on occasion, would have them repeat a few simple phrases as a whole. But considering Puck and Mike were throwing wads of paper at each other for much of the period, there wasn't any reason that Kurt couldn't slide under the radar and not draw any unwanted attention to himself.

* * *

The mismatched duo now sat in English, waiting for the final bell to ring so their teacher could begin the lecture. The two were ill at ease and for different reasons. Kurt couldn't stop shaking his leg in constant worry. It was obvious that English wasn't Karofsky's _best_ subject, and contrary to Dave, it was Kurt's favorite only after French. Kurt didn't have straight A's by any means, but he couldn't have Karofsky tarnishing his grade point average.

Dave himself looked somewhat less miffed now than when Kurt saw him in Algebra, having removed Mercedes scarf and Tina's hat as the two stylish girls were no longer in his company.

Their austere teacher, Ms. Graves, walked into the room moments before the final bell rang and wasted no time in erasing the chalkboard, leaving dusty white stripes on the dark-grey surface. She picked up a rather stunted piece of chalk and in immaculate handwriting wrote "Petrarchian Sonnets" on the board. She underlined the two words as if to further emphasize what she would be teaching.

Kurt saw Dave roll his head back on his shoulders, groaning exasperatedly with the rest of the class—more specifically the males—in the hopes of moving on to a topic that didn't require the utilization of higher brain function as well as one that was stereotypically less girly. Kurt, despite being in Dave's body, sat up straighter in his chair in eagerness; he couldn't help it. It was the honorary girl in him that absolutely loved poetry.

Kurt attempted to wipe clean the smile that was beginning to form on his face as the teacher turned around.

"Ms. G? Can't we move onto the next chapter?" A guy asked in the front of the class whined as he waved around his copy of their English book. Kurt didn't know his name, but he could infer that he participated in some McKinley sport considering that he wore a letterman jacket. He continued, "I'm sure there's _plenty,"_ he dragged out the word, "of people in here would just _love_ to read about all this sugary mush, but quite frankly? I'm pretty it's already starting to give me diabetes."

The class guffawed favorably and Kurt saw Dave smirking. Kurt rolled his eyes dramatically. Obviously people didn't appreciate nor comprehend the intricacies that went hand in hand with composing and understanding poetry.

"I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Andrews, but we will be covering this topic until next Friday. So if you don't mind, I will explain what it is that I have in store for you as well as the rest of the class, if you don't mind."

The students grimaced but remained silent as they watched their teacher pace about the room.

"Yesterday we discussed the _form_ of the Petrarchan Sonnet, now today we'll be discussing the _content_ of the Petrarchan Sonnet. _Now_ ," She paused as she authoritatively resumed her position at the front of the room. "Who here can tell me what it is that these Italian Sonnets usually consist of…? Usually convey?"

Kurt knew this one. Oh, gosh. He _knew_ this one. Kurt glanced around the room. It seemed that everyone shrunk a good two or three inches into their seats so the teacher wouldn't call on them. Kurt gnawed on his lip apprehensively, but then stopped, realizing that it was Karofsky's flesh that he was about to take a chunk out of, as the teacher began to speak up again.

"You're telling me there's not one person in this room who knows the answer to this question?" She puffed impatiently.

Kurt's hand twitched on the desk next to him and he felt himself raising it gradually; automatically.

"Mr. Karofsky?" The teacher asked, her face betraying every ounce of surprise. Dave's head swiveled around on his neck so fast that Kurt was surprised that he himself couldn't feel it. Karofsky was glaring threatening daggers at him prompting him to lower his hand sheepishly.

' _Damn me and my scholarly lust.'_ Kurt thought ruefully to himself. _'So much for incognito.'_

"Um…" Kurt mumbled. He supposed that this moment was a better time than any to put his glorious acting skills to use. He tried his darnedest to dumb his answer down to a Neanderthal level.

"It's uh… Usually about," Kurt glanced around the room. Everyone in the class was gawking at him expectantly, perhaps wondering since when Karofsky was knowledgeable about anything other than football, girls and various cuts of meat. Kurt milked the dramatic pause for what it was worth as the students waited for him to say the wrong answer.

"Unattainable love?" Kurt made sure to say it with a rising inflection, as if he _really_ had to mull it over.

Dave, who looked dangerously close to face-palming, turned around in his desk and crossed his arms with a huff. To anyone else, it may have looked as though Kurt Hummel was irritated at the fact that Dave Karofsky knew the answer to a question, but in actuality it was Dave, completely _pissed_ that Kurt Hummel would dare to ruin his badass reputation for life.

"That's… Correct. Very good, David; I'm impressed. It looks like somebody did their reading."

"For once." The same guy from before added, but attempted to play it off as a cough by covering his mouth. The rest of the class chortled and Kurt wanted nothing more than to high-kick that smarmy look off his face.

' _What a jerk…_ ' Kurt thought. One would assume that the jocks had this unwritten honor code where they weren't permitted to talk smack about anyone who was also part of the Hamhock breed.

"Okay, that's enough," their teacher said sternly, quieting the class down. "Let's move on."

"Just as David said, Petrarchian Sonnets are written about unattainable love. Yesterday, Mr. Hummel told the class that these sonnets consist of two parts: An octet and a sestet," she reminded them.

"The octet and the sestet serve two different purposes. The octave's purpose is to introduce a conflict, or something that causes doubt within the speaker. But more often than not, the speaker is communicating a desire." The group of girls in the front of the room giggled, causing their teacher to give them a pointed glance and they became silent.

"In the sestet the tone changes and, unlike the octet, it provides a solution to the said conflict."

"So… Now that we have discussed Petrarchian Sonnets, I will tell you what your _assignment_ is."

The class moaned in unison, causing their teacher's sharp eyes to wrinkle further at the corners; as if it was completely unheard of… Teachers giving them assignments.

"You will all write a poem—and by poem, I mean _Petrarchan Sonnet_ —about what we discussed." A few of the males in the class looked at her in horror. Dave blanched, turning Kurt's porcelain-white face even more ghostly.

"That _doesn't mean_ …" The teacher had to raise her voice as the students murmurs escalated into a dull roar, "…it has to specifically be a _love_ poem. It can be about anything we talked about. But I'm sure you boys know how much girls love poetry."

"Awww yeah!" The Andrews guy near the front of the class said. "Next Friday, I am _so_ getting laid." Kurt did his best not to throw up in his mouth at the jock's blatant crudeness and excessive amount of testosterone as he high-fived his buddies.

"Are there any questions pertaining to this assignment?" Kurt was surprised to see Dave raise his hand tentatively at their teacher's question.

"Yes, Mr. Hummel?"

"Oh—um…" Dave stammered, momentarily confused at being called a name different from his own. "Yes... Does the meter need to be in iambic pentameter or…?"

"Oh! Thank you, Kurt, for reminding me."

' _Hold the phone,'_ Kurt thought as he inclined his head in disbelief. _'Iambic pentameter?'_ Perhaps Karofsky wasn't completely hopeless after all.

"No. You may be confused with the _English_ Sonnet which is normally written in iambic pentameter. Francesco Petrarch didn't create the Italian Sonnet with a fixed meter in mind. Many poets who adopted the form used iambic _hexameter_ , while others chose not to limit themselves to strict metrical or rhyme schemes. So I want you all to have fun with this assignment because what I also neglected to mention was… You will be reading it out loud to the class."

Another series of complaints erupted in the class and their teacher quieted them down, prompting them to use the rest of their class period to begin brainstorming ideas for their poems.

Kurt, however, couldn't help his eyes from wandering towards Karofsky. Even though it was difficult for him to see what exactly Karofsky was staring at from this position, Kurt could tell when someone was putting in too much effort to avoid looking at him.

* * *

Dave didn't think it possible for things to get any worse after third period English, but while he did his best to stay awake in Hummel's last class of the day he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate. After removing the device he stared at the initials of the sender on the screen.

_K.H._

Dave would have entered Fancy's name into the contacts, but if Hummel's Glee loser friends were anything like his football buddies, there was the possibility of them spotting Kurt's name on _Kurt's_ phone if, for whatever reason, they needed to borrow it. And that completely ruled out putting _his_ name in there for the very same reason.

' _And once again, the gay God's have spoken,'_ Dave thought in agitation as he looked at the text.

_-Meet me behind the bleachers after class.-_

Dave couldn't help his heart from leaping considerably at the words. What the fuck was Hummel playing at? The message held no clue as to whatever it was that Hummel wanted to talk— _talk?—_ to him about, but surely he knew that the area behind the bleachers was a well-known hookup place for the jocks and the cheerleaders?

 _-Whatever-_ Dave texted back. No way was he taking Kurt's bait, but for some strange reason his face felt as though somebody took a blow-torch to it.

It was obvious that he had been on edge since third period English. It wasn't as though he was incapable of doing the assignment. Sure… He had _plenty_ of things he could write about: He could write about the fact that he never felt anything below his neck when he made out with a girl. How he was predestined to be miserable not only his high school career but his entire life out of fear of what others thought of him. Or perhaps how the very person that he was destined to hate made his stomach feel squirmy, much like the time when Azimio dared him to swallow that earthworm when they went fishing together in the third grade… Only not nearly as unpleasant.

How could their teacher expect them to read their poems to the class? Weren't poems supposed to be personal and all that shit?

As the last bell of the day rang, Dave was jerked from his reverie and he left Hummel's Art class not being able to remember a single word uttered by their hippie-like teacher. He could worry about that later because for now it looked as though he had a date with himself behind the school bleachers.

 


	6. The One With the Crash Course

 

Dave didn't realize how much he missed his body until he was attempting to exit through the front doors and leave his Godforsaken school with the rest of the student body. Not even a day had passed, but Jesus Christ! Sure, the hat and the scarf, which looked as though a box of magic markers threw up on it, that Hummel's crazy friends had forced on him were embarrassing and girly, but this? Talk about claustrophobia… In Kurt's body he was level with—and perhaps shorter than—the entire population of students, which meant he lacked the ability to see over the tops of people's heads. At least in his towering form he could push through the masses with little or no effort on his part; but now, people paid him no mind as they jostled into him without saying so much as an "excuse me."

' _Wow. This kind of sucks,'_ Dave thought as he simultaneously considered how much more painful it would be to punch the person who just elbowed him than when he punched his locker. At least in _his_ body people would acknowledge him, even if it was in the form of a fearful glance. It seemed that, apart from the Glee Club and the jocks who abused Kurt on an almost daily basis, the rest of the school ignored him, as if they felt more comfortable pretending the gay kid walking beside them didn't exist.

Finally, Dave approached the end of the narrow hall and was squeezed through the doors thanks to the people coming up behind him. He felt as though he broke the surface of the ocean as he made it outside.

Dave trotted down the three concrete steps of the school's entrance before turning the corner and ambling in the direction of the football field that was in the back of the campus. He took his time, not caring if Hummel had to wait for him. He supposed going the long way and exiting from the front of the school would be more inconspicuous than going through the back of the school. At least that way he looked as if he was heading towards the parking lot to go home instead of going out the back doors and directly to the football field.

Despite it being the middle of winter, the sky was clear and the sun was bright and warm as it floated above him, so when Dave felt a trickle of perspiration beginning to slide down his neck, he wiped it away and shrugged off, what was according to the Frankenteen himself, Finn's old sweater.

As Dave stepped on the squishy material of McKinley's running track, he recognized a bulky figure not too far off in the distance. The familiar person in the red letterman jacket was making his way across the dead patchy-yellow grass to the bleachers with a rather determined gait. Somehow, despite the much shorter legs attached to his body, Dave managed to catch up with the person who just disappeared behind the bleachers and was able to hear his voice as he stumbled upon the interesting scene.

"Leave," Kurt said in a way that Dave _knew_ was meant to sound snotty; but instead, it only came out of the teen in the letterman jacket sounding gruff. If Kurt had been looking at him, Dave would have thought he was addressing him. Kurt was too busy, however looking upon the scene before them like a disapproving mother: A petite, raven-haired cheerleader hastily pushing up her fallen bra strap under her uniform, as the jock who Dave recognized as a sophomore who played for the J.V. Hockey Team turned to face him and Kurt.

"Wha'?" The jock had a dazed look on his face.

Kurt stood authoritatively in front of the two who were sprawled out on the ground. He crossed his thick Dave-arms as they did nothing to move from their position and he tapped his foot impatiently.

"You heard me. Go. Leave. _Vamoose_."

"Aww, come on, man. We're just getting start-" Dave was pretty sure from second hand experience after attending so many parties that it was safe to assume that the dude was more high than horny, so he interrupted the guy before he could say anything else.

"He didn't stutter, now leave or else the first thing you will be handed at your next hockey practice is a pee cup."

"… _Shit_ ," the guy dragged out. "Have fun with your…" He looked at him up and down, then at Kurt and back to Dave again who stood under his hooded gaze uncomfortably. "Eh… I'd hit that." The seemingly-stoned jock shrugged before stumbling out of their view, his girlfriend giggling in his wake.

"Fucker," Dave mumbled. "No wonder that guy was always late to practice last year. Fucking high out of his mind—Hummel, what the hell are you doing?" He asked as he watched himself pacing frantically back and forth, wringing his hands out nervously. "You better not be freaking out on me, Hummel. If you're worried about that guy, he's not going to remember anything in a couple of hours anyway. But other than that, I'd rather you not rip my hands out of their sockets… I kinda need those to play football."

"Oh, screw you and your precious hands, Karofsky," Kurt said viciously as he paused his pacing only to continue both acts after rolling his eyes dramatically. "I'd be more worried about your spine, or your neck, or your tiny little brain—" Kurt lifted his head and rapped on his skull with his thick knuckles, "by the time today is over."

"Hummel, you're making just about as much sense as your wardrobe."

"Football!" Kurt screeched. "I'm expected to play football!"

"And that's a problem because…?" Dave furrowed his perfectly manicured Kurt-eyebrows in confusion.

"Um… Didn't you hear anything I just said? I'm fairly certain that when we get our bodies back, you would much prefer yours to be in _working order_!" Kurt exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"Well… Look on the bright side. You won't have to worry about breaking a nail." Dave looked down at Kurt's perfectly shiny, manicured nails in comparison to his, which were short and surrounded with bitten hangnails. The ends of Kurt Hummel's digits were so shiny; Dave wouldn't be surprised if they were coated with a clear nail polish.

"Oh gosh, I'm going to get all sweaty aren't I?" Kurt bemoaned.

"You're _going_ to get sweaty, Hummel. This is football, not your precious little _Glee Club_ ," he said in a mocking tone.

"Hey, have you seen the choreography we do for our performances?" Kurt asked in an appalled voice.

"Whatever, Hummel," Dave said while waving a dismissive hand in the air. "The point is you _have_ to go to practice, alright?" Dave practically pleaded with him. "And come on, dude. You were even on the football team before I was."

"I was a kicker," Kurt said blankly with a hand on his hip. "I was required," he placed his other hand upon his chest, "to kick an _object_ down the field… Now I am going to be that object!" He screeched, balling his hands into fists at his thighs and stomping Dave's large foot on the ground much like an overgrown child.

"Come now, Fancy, they're not going to kick you," Dave responded soothingly.

"Really?" Kurt asked gratefully, letting out a breathy sigh.

"Of course not…" Dave paused before adding, "They're just going to tackle you really hard." Dave barked out a laugh as Kurt's face fell, turning ashen.

"Oh, why thank you. I feel _so_ much better."

"Please, just… Here," he said in a sober tone than before and he retrieved Kurt's phone from his pocket, checking the time on the analog clock.

_3:08 PM_

"Look, practice doesn't start for another twenty minutes or so. So what if I just gave you a few pointers before hand? Just so you don't make me look like a fucking idiot out there?"

"Fine," Kurt relied with pursed lips after a few moments of contemplation. But then he paused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Wait," Kurt said, holding a hand up. "What do _you_ get out of this?"

' _Spending more time with you.'_

Dave had to bite his tongue before the first thing that came to mind slipped past his lips. Where the hell had that come from? He despised Hummel from the soles of his Prada shoes to the bangs of his flawlessly coiffed hair. Why the fuck would he _want_ to spend time with him?

' _Probably for the same reason you kissed him, dumbass.'_

"Um… Hello? Earth to Hamhock?" Kurt's—or rather his—voice broke through his thoughts.

"You teach me how to drive a stick—Er… Stick shift, I mean." Kurt looked at him oddly. "And drop me off at your place after our little practice session here."

"Fine," Kurt replied once again in his haughtiest voice. "It's only a matter of time before my Dad gets suspicious of me not driving to school anyways."

"But your driving lesson will have to wait until the weekend, since _you_ have Glee Club tomorrow," Kurt continued. "But Saturday nights, my dad and Finn's mom go out to dinner and Finn usually goes over to Rachel's, so I think you can manage to get a ride with Finn for at least two days. And suppose teaching you how to drive a car with manual transmission is the _least_ I can do, as you're doing your all to allow me the use of your limbs for the remainder of the time I must spend in your body."

"Or maybe I'm just selfish and would much prefer getting my body back with a minimal amount of damage done to it." And he turned continued on his way to the football field, not missing the softly hissed _'Neanderthal'_ being muttered behind him.

"So… Where exactly are we going to be practicing at?" Kurt questioned curiously as he followed behind Dave.

"Where d'you think, Fancy?" Dave asked as he motioned towards the football field where a couple footballs and some other sports equipment were strewn on the sparse, dead grass, likely left behind from the P.E. class from earlier that afternoon.

"Aren't you the least bit worried of what people will think when they see the Mr. Flamboyant teaching Mr. Meathead how to play football?"

Dave picked up one of the footballs and threw it vertically in the air so that it spiraled before coming back down. He caught it flawlessly despite the use of Kurt's small, elegant hands.

"Nah, not really," Dave said absentmindedly as he tossed the football up again, his eyes following it. "I mean… We'll be done by then and you will have to go and suit up and… I dunno… I'll just stay here and say I'm here to _support_ ," he tucked the oblong ball underneath his arm as he made air quotes with his opposite hand, "Hudson and the rest of the _Nude Erections_ , or whatever."

"You realize how believable a statement that it is," Kurt said, inclining his head. "Never have I attended _any_ of Finn's games, let alone a practice."

Dave shrugged. "Whatever... I'm staying. I need a ride back to your place. Now are you ready to practice, or what?"

Kurt sighed.

"Let's do this thing."

"Oh… Okay. Yea—no. Like… Dammit, Hummel, just… Christ on a cracker, Hummel! It's not rocket science!" Dave roared in frustration.

"Would you stop yelling at me?" Kurt said as he pulled his hands away from Dave's causing the ball to fall in between them and roll away a couple of inches. "I'm sorry, okay! As much as I appreciate your effort in showing me the proper way to grasp that… That… Monstrosity!" He pointed at the football lying dejectedly on the ground, "It's weird, okay? You keep touching me, but it's really _me_ that's touching me, and... I never noticed it myself but… Brittany was right! I _do_ have soft baby hands!" Kurt hid his face in Dave's paw-like hands himself.

"Congratulations, Hummel," Dave said simply. "You're officially in- _fucking_ -sane." He bent down to retrieve the ball and he pushed it into Kurt's chest. "Now stop your crying and show me the right way to handle a ball."

Kurt stared at him with wide, hazel eyes before snorting rather unattractively, doubling over in laughter. Dave blushed profusely before he pouted indignantly.

"You know what I meant."

* * *

"You want me to what?" Kurt asked looking at Dave like he was wearing a shirt from last season's Marc Jacobs Collection.

"I want you to try to tackle me," Dave said with his arms outstretched before assuming his tackling position, his elbows and knees bent slightly and his palms facing Kurt. He looked at Kurt like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Hah! I think you've taken too many hits to the head, Karofsky." Kurt crossed his arms and turned away from him.

"I don't think I carried any brain damage from football with me when we switched bodies, Hummel. Perhaps _you_ have inhaled far too much hair spray fumes." He sneered. "Come on, I've been tackled by dudes twice my size."

"Well, in this case, I would much rather learn in theory. Just tell me what I need to do when they toss the ball."

"Snap the ball, Hummel. They snap the ball," Dave muttered under his breath in annoyance as he stood up from his semi-squatting position. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Fine. But if you get hurt because you don't know what you're doing, then that's your problem." Dave closed his eyes before continuing.

"You're the right guard so thing main thing that you have to keep in mind is your primary job, which is essentially just protecting the quarterback. And that would be Hudson, so this should be easy for you to remember."

"Okay, and which number is he?"

"I—He's number five, Hummel," Dave said incredulously, as if this was common knowledge.

"And what number am I?"

"You..." Dave was beginning to think Kurt purposefully trying to piss him off as he shook his head, flustered. "You're number sixty-seven, okay?

"Got it. Then what?"

"You try to tackle them before they maul your precious boy-toy."

"Don't be an idiot, Finn's essentially my brother so could you stop acting like he's the object of my affections."

"Whatever." Dave rolled his eyes before continuing. "So you think you could do all that without—Shit…" Dave started at the alarm from the phone that was going off and pulled the device out to turn it off. "Dude, you gotta go get changed. They're going to be coming out pretty soon. Oh! And you'll be needing my locker combo in order to get my uniform out."

"Text it to me!" Kurt said in a panicked voice as Dave began pushing him off the field in the direction of the school. "But wait! I still don't know where I'm supposed to run and I—I don't think I can do this."

"Come on, Hummel. Just think of it as letting out a bit of pent up frustration," Dave said, as he stopped his efforts at trying to get Kurt moving. He licked his lips and looked around nervously.

"You gotta be pissed, man," Dave said stepping up to Kurt and poked his broad chest with a slender finger in attempt to get him riled and pumped up for practice. "Half of those jocks, me included, have slushied you… Just think of _all_ of the damage done to your beloved outfits. Well, here's your chance to get back at us. Now I'm going to be watching from the sidelines, and I want to see you _angry_ , alright?"

Kurt's face had since been masked with a scowl since the moment Dave said the magic word 'slushied' and he nodded resolutely.

"Fine. Just tell me where I need to be," Kurt said in a determined voice.

"Just make sure you're in front of Hudson. But diagonally… And to the right."

"Alright…" Kurt said as he let out the nervous breath he was holding. "Let's kick some ass!"

"Jesus!" Dave swore at Kurt's sudden outburst and he covered his pounding heart with his hand as Kurt enthusiastically took off in the direction of the locker rooms.

"God, save the Titans," Dave muttered.

 


	7. The One With the Awkward Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The poem in story that Dave read is called "Gli Occhi Di Ch' Io Parlai" and it is by Francesco Petrarca, as mentioned.

 

As Kurt apprehensively strode down the school hall, barren save for the few students who stayed after school for their various clubs, he felt the flawlessly timed buzzing in his pocket and withdrew Dave's phone. As he suspected, it was Karofsky texting him—just as he guaranteed—with the three numbers that would allow Kurt to enter what could possibly be the football player's most intimate and private of places: His locker.

As he came upon his destination, Kurt took (what he believed to be) his last breath of fresh air and he opened the door to the reeking, germ-infested hell known as the boy's locker room. His actions were to be followed shortly with him stepping back into the hall and snapping the door shut behind him once more.

"Sweet Mother of McQueen!" Kurt gasped audibly.

"Mother of _who_?" A voice interrupted, causing Kurt to jolt from his paralyzed position as he leaned against the door.

As his eyes opened, wide with surprise, Kurt was greeted by the bulky form of Azimio Adams standing before him with his arms crossed and with a look betraying both accusation and amusement on his face.

"What's goin' on with you, dude?" Azimio asked Kurt. Despite Azimio's large stature and body language, which was strikingly similar to when he and Karofsky would gang up on him, Kurt did not feel threatened in the least by the teen and was surprised to realize that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was in Karofsky's body. It might have had something due to the fact that Azimio was currently in "bro-mode" and looking at Kurt with a friendly, boyish expression that was similar to that of Puck, Finn, or Sam when they would joke around with him in Glee Club.

"Nothing is wrong, Azimio. I just…"

"Oh … Now wait just a hot second, D. Now I _know_ somethin' is up! Since when does my homeboy call me anything other than, Z?" Azimio, or Z, as Kurt realized he would have to call Dave's cohort from now on, thankfully didn't give Kurt anytime to explain himself as he continued.

"As much as I would _love_ to know why you've been avoiding your best bud today, I'll have plenty of time to interrogate you later," Azimio drawled as he casually draped his arm over Kurt's shoulders and guided him away from where he was leaning against the door, "We gotta go get changed for practice. I was already late on Monday and I do _not_ want to run a lap for every minute I'm late again." As Azimio attempted to open the door, Kurt ducked from underneath his arm and waved his hands in front of him as he frantically shook his head.

"No, no way. I… I can't. I just remembered—"

 _'Screw Karofsky.'_ There was no way he would be able to go into that room again. Not after what he just saw.

"You just remembered nuthin', D," Azimio interrupted him. "Now come on, man, and stop actin' crazy. I don't like seeing Hudson's man boobs any more than you do, but we gotta get in there and get changed, so come on!" And Azimio grabbed at the leather material of Karofsky's letterman jacket and pulled Kurt inside after him.

Kurt tightly scrunched his eyelids shut as the soft click from the door shutting behind him sounded more like a gunshot than anything else. As Kurt tentatively opened one eye followed by the other, he feared that his worst fears had come true: That, once more, he was Kurt Hummel in Kurt Hummel's body, which was strange because just this morning he was granted with the new fear of waking up in one Dave Karofsky's body.

But Kurt, however, was not standing in a locker room full of boxer-clad jocks at that specific time.

Kurt swallowed thickly. _Never_ had he seen so much skin in his life.

Upon realizing how incredibly awkward he was being, standing wide-eyed in the threshold of the boy's locker room, Kurt knew it was now or never. The singer took a step further into the room and was pleased with the results. The capacity of the room did not dramatically and simultaneously turn to look at him when he did so—a definite plus.

So with his first endeavor of entering the lair of testosterone without suspicion a success, Kurt spotted a pair of shoulder pads sitting on the top of what he knew to be Dave's locker. Kurt strode toward the row of lockers, eyes downcast to avoid any obvious gawking but still making use of his peripheral vision. Thankfully, the closest person to him was none other than Puck who, sadly, was already dressed and tying the laces to his cleats. Kurt couldn't decide what was more depressing: Not being acknowledged by Puck as himself—not knowing how long this would last, not being able to hang out with his own friends—or the fact that there was little camaraderie between Dave and the Glee Club jocks—all the jocks, really. They were teammates, weren't they? Isn't greeting one another the least they could do?

Kurt sighed warily as he slipped his hand around the cold metal of the combination lock and he turned the black dial so it smoothly rotated clockwise, counterclockwise and clockwise once more, landing on the numbers 3, 12 and 4 respectably. As he pulled at the lock so that it came free, his heart hammered painfully in his chest and he put all of his uneasiness aside as he wrenched open the red metal door and stared at the contents inside.

 _'Well…'_ Kurt thought, ' _That was rather anticlimactic.'_ He wasn't sure what he was expecting to find at all, really - perhaps a shrine as an attestation of his heterosexuality. Maybe lined with cutouts of topless women from dirty magazines. All that was in the locker, however, was Karofsky's neatly folded football uniform and cleats sitting on top of it (upside down so as to not get the white fabric of the cropped white pants dirty). Kurt huffed, feeling strangely disappointed, and picked up the cleats to set them on the bench behind him. This brought about an eerie sense of déjà vu. Only a week ago was Kurt standing in front of Karofsky, yelling at him, as he performed the exact same action. He repressed a shudder, willing himself to not think of the histrionic event that took place after their confrontation.

Kurt shook his head, clearing it of these unwarranted thoughts that were ultimately going to cause him to be late to practice. Kurt didn't know much of this Coach Beiste except for when the boys in Glee Club sang to her last week in apology for their insensitivities, but he last thing he wanted was to face the same punishment that Azimio Adams mentioned and be required to run laps, and not to mention a quarter of the jocks seemed to already have cleared out and took off for the field.

Kurt looked down at his unfamiliar form as he toed off Karofsky's sneakers and wondered how on Earth he was going to get changed without causing any permanent, mental scarring.

* * *

Dave sat impatiently, shifting in his position on the uncomfortable metal bleachers. His head was bowed, looking at his hands at he picked at the skin around his perfectly manicured thumbs. Evidently the body swap hadn't shaken Dave of his bad habits.

Nearly fifteen minutes had passed since Hummel retreated to the locker room and in the fifteen minutes, half of the team trickled on the field. Beiste had yet to emerge from her office, and Dave's teammates were throwing footballs to each other—more in leisure than a warm up—as they waited for her and the rest of the team to arrive. Something that most people didn't notice, or didn't care to notice, about Dave was his surpassing reliability and punctuality—surely a characteristic he learned growing up and being involved in Scouting. So as Dave anxiously fiddled with his fingers it had little to do with having to do laps for being late (because Hummel was the one who would have to suffer the physical consequences) and more to do with the possibility of tarnishing his perfectly unblemished track record.

It seemed as though Dave could put his mind at ease, however, because he saw two towering figures that looked like himself and Azimio making their way to the field at a light jog, helmets in their hands. Dave was also pleased to see that Kurt wasn't completely incompetent when it came to football because even from where Dave was sitting on the bleachers, he could tell that Kurt had succeeded in putting on his uniform on the correct way. The slight wave of trepidation brought about by the notion of Kurt possibly seeing what his clothing usually concealed washed away the small ounce of gratification he felt when he saw that the fashionita-in-cleats managed to put his shoulder pads on the right way.

As Dave stared off in thought at the field, it took him a moment to realize that a voice was calling him and another moment to find where the voice was actually coming from.

"Kurt! Hey, Kurt!" It was Hudson, standing at the foot of the bleachers in his uniform looking up at him. Dave thought about the obvious crush that Hummel once had on the Frankenteen and wondered briefly what kind of encounter the openly gay teen had with Hudson in the locker room while he was changing, if any.

"What the hell are you doing here, dude?" Dave had expected Finn to sound accusatory, because he and Dave both knew that there were a million-and-one things Kurt Hummel would rather be doing instead of watching a football game, and a practice one, no less; however, Finn only seemed mildly amused at the idea of Hummel watching any type of sporting event as a leisurely pursuit.

"Oh…" Dave mumbled nervously as he raked a hand through Kurt's surprisingly thick hair. "I just thought I'd stay and watch… You know—Watch your practice and… Lend my support to, um… You Glee Guys."

Dave knew this was the most mediocre of excuses. If Kurt Hummel wanted to come out to support to his fellow Glee Club members on the football team, he probably would have stayed on the Cheerios. But at the same time, Dave realized that this is the same guy who he told during Spanish class that _pregunta_ meant pregnant and _embarazada_ meant embarrassed. So Dave should have known when Finn told the class "Yo soy embarazada" that not only should he be embarrassed (and pregnant, apparently) but that he was also the world's most gullible person.

Finn only smiled, obviously unfazed, but still amused, by his unusual amount of school spirit.

"Thanks, Kurt. That's really cool of you. And I'm sure the guys appreciate it too." And sure enough Puckerman, Evans, Abrams and Chang, who Dave had to all distinguish by their numbers—save for Abrams, of course—as they were all wearing their helmets already, all waved in Dave's direction.

"Oh, and by the way Kurt." Finn stepped closer to the bleachers and leaned against the railing, resting his chin on his folded arms. "Did you need to catch a ride with me after practice or something—"

"Yo, Hudson! Maybe you and your Queerio boyfriend should wait 'til you return to the House of Gay-Gay before ya'll start giving each other rides!" Azimio yelled from where he was standing with Kurt a few feet away from the track, having overheard Finn talking to him.

Kurt had yet to put his helmet on and Dave could see his cheeks burning scarlet in a mixture of rage and embarrassment. It didn't matter if the remark wasn't said to him directly. Dave could still see the muscle in his own jaw twitching furiously from afar. Hummel looked like there was nothing else in the world that would bring him as much satisfaction than taking Z's helmet and shoving it so far up his ass that he could taste the titanium dioxide in the scratched red paint. Instead, Kurt breathed heavily out of his nose so that his nostrils flared and he shoved his own helmet on as he turned around, walking briskly away from the other teen in a huff. Azimio looked after his best friend in confusion at not getting as much as a pat on the shoulder for his brilliant remark. Dave managed to bite his tongue hard enough to stop himself from full on bursting out in laughter before Finn turned around after glaring at Azimio to look at him once more.

"Ignore them, Kurt. They're just a bunch of jerks," Finn stated with a grimace. If he was embarrassed by Z's quip, he didn't seem the least bit phased by it. Dave had to wonder since when was Hudson apathetic towards being the subject of gay jokes.

"What was I saying?" He mumbled to himself as a look of confusion passing over his features. "Oh! I didn't know if you needed a ride, you know, since you walked to school…" He frowned, as if he was still baffled at the idea of someone choosing to walk to school when they had a vehicle that was perfectly capable of doing the work for them. "But if you do, it'll be a while because I promised Rachel I'd practice our duet with her after football practice since we won't have time tomorrow in Glee Club and then the day after that she has to go to the Black Student Union meeting—

"You know what?" Dave had to raise his voice over Finn's in order to get him to stop rambling. "I'm already getting a ride from Mercedes. I'll be fine."

"Oh, sweet! Alright then, I guess you don't have to wait for… Wait a second." The confused expression that was customary to Finn's features returned once more. Dave wondered if it would be easier for him to keep that expression permanently fixed on his face. "Where's Merced—"

"Quick, Finn!" Dave pointed towards the field for a much needed diversion at the fact that Mercedes was obviously not staying after school to give him a ride home. _That_ , and coming up with excuses was starting to get tiring. Dave swooped down and snatched Finn's helmet from out of his hands as the taller teen looked in the direction that he was pointing, eliciting a "Hey!" from Finn. Dave hastily rammed the helmet on Finn's head when he turned around, trying to steal it back. Dave had a better idea, however.

"Coach Beiste is coming! You better hurry up!"

"Oh shit," Finn cursed as he spotted the hefty woman making her way in their direction. "Thanks, Dude. I'll catch you later," Finn said gratefully as he adjusted his helmet before jogging toward the congregating jocks.

Dave watched from the stands as his Coach clapped her hands together, signaling the football players to take a knee. Dave chortled as Kurt looked around in confusion at the surrounding jocks that just shrank about two feet in height. Kurt quickly did the same, but Dave didn't miss the tentativeness about Kurt at the possibility of getting grass stains on his bleached white pants.

 _'Way to make me look like a complete tool, Hummel,'_ Dave thought, shaking his head.

He listened to Beiste's regular pre-practice pep talk, which consisted mostly of enthusiastic metaphors that rarely made sense but always made the thick vein in her neck look like it was about to pop. Considering they were farther off on the opposite side of the field, Dave could only pick up some of the words that were being said such as "Championship Game" and "eight year losing streak." Dave knew from experience that Coach Beiste's pep talks could rival that of Tenaka's, so it was probably a good idea to find something to keep himself occupied for the time being. The only homework Dave—or Kurt, rather—was assigned today was that ridiculous poem that their English teacher expected them to write.

Dave huffed. What a stupid assignment to give to a bunch of horny, lovesick teenagers.

Dave pulled out Kurt's iPhone wondering how annoyed he would be if he used his internet. Dave shrugged to himself. It wasn't like he was going to use it to Google porn.

Dave typed in "Petrarchan sonnet examples" into the search bar and scrolled through the results, stopping on the first legitimate looking website that wasn't Wikipedia.

The poem that Dave found had already been translated, but the title was not something he could even begin to pronounce. Dave could vaguely remember their English teacher saying that this Petrarch guy was Italian. Scrolling once more, only this time through the stanzas, Dave read the poem to himself.

_'Those eyes, 'neath which my passionate rapture rose,_

_The arms, hands, feet, the beauty that erewhile_

_Could my own soul from its own self beguile,_

_And in a separate world of dreams enclose,_

_The hair's bright tresses, full of golden glows,_

_And the soft lightning of the angelic smile_

_That changed this earth to some celestial isle,_

_Are now but dust, poor dust, that nothing knows._

_And yet I live! Myself I grieve and scorn,_

_Left dark without the light I loved in vain,_

_Adrift in tempest on a bark forlorn;_

_Dead is the source of all my amorous strain,_

_Dry is the channel of my thoughts outworn,_

_And my sad harp can sound but notes of pain.'_

Dave had to read through the poem three times before he could truly understand the meaning of it and when he did, it left a dull, throbbing ache in his chest.

It was about love. The kind of love that is all-encompassing. That takes up residence in some little niche in your body and seems to follow you, wherever you are and whatever you do.

Love, however, was just a mere constituent to the verse itself. It was about keeping that love for a person hidden away. You admire their ethereal beauty from afar and never let them know, because why should that one person's opinion— _your_ opinion—matter? Not when they have so many other people who would gladly fall at their feet. But then, something tragic and unspeakable happens that causes the person to no longer be a part of this Earth. You're left ravaged, like your very soul had been ripped out, leaving a bleeding trail in its wake and you, gasping for air knowing that the love you felt was all for naught. But all the while, you would have obligingly sacrificed everything to take the place of that person.

You would endure the same amount of pain again if it meant they could hear those sacred words grace your lips…

How the fuck was he supposed to write a poem that measured up to that?

Dave opened his eyes—not being able to recall at what point in time that he shut them—to see the iPhone in his palm being held in a vice-like grip. Instead of the words from the poem echoing cruelly back at him from the screen, like he expected, there was a face. The screen had since turned black, reverting into idle mode as a result of the screen not being touched for the past couple of minutes, and the reflection that he was granted was possibly even crueler than the words themselves.

A pair of crystalline-gray eyes—not at all dulled by the blackness of the screen—were nestled below a set of perfectly manicured brows. He knew just whose body he was in, but he also knew he would never shake the uneasiness of seeing that petite, upturned nose in place of his much longer and narrow one.

Before Dave could question the cause of his inner turmoil, he was distracted by movement occurring on the field. Coach Beiste apparently wrapped up her tirade and the boys on the field were moving into position. Dave was able to find himself within the clump of red and white jerseys and couldn't help feeling a tiny sense of pride. Hummel had successfully figured out where he should be and Dave was more than thrilled to see that his ass wasn't facing the defense.

Dave let out a little puff of air, shaking his head in the process. Dave didn't know how long this scenario was going to last but maybe—just maybe—the two of them would be able to tolerate this scenario of living as each other. Hell, they got through almost a whole day without giving too much away or embarrassing the fuck out of one another.

From the field, Dave could make out the words "Blue 42! Blue 42! Ready!" being called by Finn and he knew the ball was about to be hiked, meaning Hummel was in for the onslaught of terror.

Dave couldn't help wondering how much bleach Hummel would have to go through in order to get the piss stains out of his white pants.

"Let the games begin," Dave smugly uttered to himself as he allowed himself an amused smirk.

* * *

"I want to die..." Kurt bemoaned as Dave made his way out on the field.

The rest of the team already scrambled into the locker room to get the sweat, dirt and grime off in the showers. Naturally, Kurt had to decline when Azimio asked him if he was going as well. A room full of naked, dripping guys made for an obvious disaster. He made an off the cuff excuse, saying that he was going stay a little while to do some extra drills on his own, and Azimio only gave him a look that plainly implied that he was crazy and left. Finn, being in too much of a hurry to meet with Rachel, left without as much as a second glace. And now, Kurt lay spread-eagle on his back on the middle of an empty football field.

"Still quite the drama queen, I see," Dave goaded as he approached his pathetic-looking form. He looked down at Kurt who was still wearing his helmet and mouth guard causing his earlier words to come out gargled. Dave rolled his eyes at Kurt's unresponsiveness and nudged his side with his toe.

"Noooo..." Kurt groaned as he rolled over clutched his helmeted head as he rolled himself into the shape resembling that of a pill bug. "Leave me be."

"Come on, dude. It can't be _that_ bad."

Kurt rolled on his back once more to stare up at himself. He spat out the mouth guard and it fell out on his chest before saying in a ragged voice, "There's not one part of my body that doesn't feel like it's been trampled by an elephant."

"And by elephant, you mean linebacker?"

"Same difference," Kurt quipped and he gingerly picked the mouth guard off his chest and lifted his other hand above him towards Dave. "Now could you be of some use and help me up?"

"What are the magic words?" Dave badgered as he hunched down with his hands on his knees so he knew Kurt would be able to see the snide look on his face as he tilted his head slightly.

"Oh, you mean 'My name is Dave Karofsky and I'm a flaming homosexual'?" Kurt said, offering a smile that was saccharine sweet.

"Not even close," Dave grunted. His face became dark, but offered Kurt his hand anyway. He struggled momentarily to bring Kurt to his feet, considering their roles were reversed and Dave, not nearly as strong in Kurt's body as he was in his own. And the fact that Kurt was doing little to help made it all the more difficult.

"Does it always feel like this? After each time you play, I mean."

"You get use to it eventually," Dave replied as he began to walk away, implying that the ache that he knew Kurt was feeling in his muscles was something that he felt every time. But it was reviving almost, Dave thought as he called the sensation. As if it awakes all of the senses. Somewhat like...

"It feels like a tankard of slushie was dropped on me," Kurt stated, almost like he read Dave's mind.

"I wouldn't know." Dave sneered, already a good distance in front of Kurt. "So are you gonna get changed or what?"

Kurt sighed, pulling his helmet off and shaking his head as if it did damage to Dave's short hair, "Yeah. I suppose so. Do you think the locker rooms are cleared out by now?"

Dave shrugged a shoulder, "Could be? Why? You not going to get cleaned up?"

"No, I'd rather not," Kurt said through gritted teeth.

"Why not? 'Fraid you'll like what you see?" Dave asked waggling his eyebrows.

"You're a pig. And no… For your information, it was difficult enough trying to get into this uniform with my eyes closed, thank you very much."

"Hmm, must've been a bitch to get that cup on."

"I'm not _wearing_ a cup, Karofsky," Kurt said, raising his eyebrows defiantly. Kurt would rather be kneed in the testicles a thousand times before touching some nasty unwashed cup or nasty-ass jockstrap belonging to Dave Karofsky.

Dave sputtered, looking at him wide eyed. "Are you fucking insane, Hummel? What if I'd been kicked in the nads? Then what? Believe it or not, some of us _want_ to have kids someday."

Kurt scoffed, "Oh yes. Planning on settling down, Karofsky? Finding a nice wife for yourself? Having a handful of kids?"

"Yeah, maybe that's exactly what I'm going to do," Dave retorted, fists clenched. As their shouting match died down, the two of them saw, that somehow, they made it past the fields and were standing in the back of the school. Both seemed rather surprised as they breathed heavily staring each other down and both vaguely wondering what it was that set them off.

"I'm going to go change now," Kurt declared plainly. As much as he would want to climb into Dave's truck and leave, he was still in Dave's football uniform and it would be silly and downright uncomfortable to try to do that with his giant pair of shoulder pads on. Plus, he had to drop Dave off at his house. The last thing he would want was his dad to have another heart attack if he never showed up.

"You do that."

* * *

The drive to Kurt's house started off as a rather quiet and uncomfortable one. He and Dave were still ruminating in their stew of angry words that were thrown at each other only moments ago.

Now the two of them had to sit in close quarters with one another as Kurt drove Dave's little pick-up truck to his house. Dave sighed dejectedly as Kurt kept his eyes on the road as he obeyed speed limit, which made their trip painfully slow on Dave's behalf. Dave was pretty sure that the lack of conversation between them and the fact that only a couple of weeks prior his radio was stolen out of his truck was what made him want to break the silence that was permeating in the cabin of the truck

"You know… Your tackling seemed to get better after the third or fourth go." He quickly turned his head to look out the window, hiding the embarrassed look on his face.

"What?" Kurt asked him, as if not hearing a word of what he said. He turned his head to better look at him with a puzzled expression on his face.

"I'm not going to lie, the first two plays were rather embarrassing," Dave continued. "I mean, I'm pretty sure both of those times you got tackled you made a noise that kind of sounded kind of like a _'_ meep'." Kurt gave him a startled smile that shone through his look of incredulity. Dave ran a hand through his locks as he looked at the other boy behind the steering wheel. "But after that, you started to look kind of badass out there."

"I… Oh… Well, thank you. I suppose." Kurt sniffed, regaining an air of disinterest as he turned his attention back to the road as the light turned green.

"You, um, might want to make sure you have a better footing, though, in the future. That makes it harder for them to knock you down."

"In the future?"

"On Friday," Dave said cautiously. The last thing he would want is for Kurt to blow up while he was driving his _baby._ "In the off chance that we don't—"

"Get our bodies back?" Kurt supplied, emotionless.

"Yeah," Dave concurred softly, as he looked down at the clasped hands in his lap.

"Well! We're here!" Kurt said. The fake smile that he had plastered on his face was more for him than anything else, Dave was sure. Like by pretending he was happy with the given circumstances would make them more bearable.

"Oh, that was quick. I guess walking makes your house seem farther away than it actually is."

"Yeah, it suppose it would do that," Kurt said in a rather small voice. A voice that seemed to contrast oddly with the body that it came out of. Dave regarded Kurt as the other boy picked at the synthetic, polymer coating that was starting to come off of the steering wheel. Even though it was himself he was staring at, he could almost imagine what that expression would like on Kurt's respectable face. Instead of seeing the proud, unshed tears in his own hazel eyes, he envisioned them in gray, flashing like two storm clouds abundant with lightning.

Dave shook his head from his reverie and saw that Kurt had turned his head away from him. He followed his far away gaze towards the house whose lights, which were spilling out through the window panes, contrasted against the darkening street. The setting sun had already began to cast its shadow Ohio. The yellow lights emanating from within gave off a homey feeling that seemed replicated from a Thomas Kinkade painting.

Dave knew exactly what Kurt was thinking: His family was in there. His dad probably just got home from work and his step-mom was most likely in the kitchen preparing dinner. In an hour or so, Hudson would probably walk through the front door saying he was sorry that his girlfriend kept him so late. It was like something out of some sickening-sweet black and white film starring Jimmy Stewart. Dave couldn't help feeling rather morose about the situation, as well, as he thought about his single, divorced father at home.

Dave didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't be deemed insensitive in the eyes of Kurt Hummel.

"I'll see you tomorrow, I guess?" Dave asked, trying—and failing—at sounding lighthearted. He unbuckled his seat belt and pulled open the door, stepping out on the asphalt.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Kurt agreed despondently briefly meeting his gaze before looking away.

Dave gave Kurt one last scrutinizing look before shutting the car door. And Kurt didn't wait for Dave to even make it to the driveway before putting the car into drive and taking off down the street, driving faster than what was acceptable in a residential area.

 


	8. The One With the Parents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to the Glee club photo in this chapter. I did, however, create the back of it! :)

 

Dave felt a wave of sadness wash over him as he stood on the sidewalk under a sky that was becoming increasingly ink-black. His eyes were trained on the back bumper of the truck speeding down the street; the truck that, on any other day, _he_ should be driving home. He stayed in his trance until the vehicle turned and the red brake lights disappeared behind the silhouette of a house at the corner of the street.

Dave sighed into the cold night air and crossed his arms in front of his slight chest, remaining on the spot where he was dropped off in front of the Hummel-Hudson house just moments ago.

Dave couldn't help but think of his father who would be waiting for him at home. He knew he didn't have to worry about him; he was a grown man and more than capable of taking care of himself. It was the whole not _knowing_ when would be the next time he would be able to see his Dad - as well as the question of _when_ he and Hummel would be back in their respective bodies was just about as elusive as _how -_ that anguished Dave most. It was unfair that his old man, unbeknownst to him, would be met with a guy who could probably rattle off the entire cast of _Cats_ faster than Dave could the starting line-up of the _Cincinnati Reds._

Dave couldn't help but groan at what foreign, pansy-ass garbage was capable of coming out of his mouth while Hummel was occupying his body. Though Dave hated to admit it, he was sure Hummel wouldn't be stupid enough to give himself away so easily by humming show tunes or reading chick-magazines.

Dave wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. The relationship between he and his dad had been rocky the past couple of months after receiving a progress report from one of his teachers in regards to a failing grade. He could worry about their situation all he wanted, but it was out of his control. Instead, he decided that facing Kurt's family was a lot better than standing out on a cold, dimly-lit street all night. Dave shook himself out of his reverie and made his way up the short distance of the driveway until he found himself standing in front of the threshold leading into the house.

Dave reached out, his hand curling into the shape of a fist as if he was going to knock on the door, when he stopped himself. Why would Kurt Hummel knock on his own front door? His family would be _expecting_ him. As much as Dave hated strolling into a house that was still very unfamiliar to him, Hummel walked into most rooms like they were his own fucking living room, so him knocking on the door like he was a freaking Girl Scout didn't make much sense.

Dave allowed his hand, which was still hovering in mid air, to drop down to the brass door handle. With a deep breath, he pressed his thumb down on the handle-set and found the door to be unlocked, thankfully, and it easily swung open.

As Dave entered the house, he nervously held his breath as if half expecting someone to jump out at him. That moment never came. Instead, he was greeted with the welcoming feel of the heat that had accumulated in the house as a result of the furnace being on and the warmth enveloped his body, which became chilled from standing outside. As he stepped into the foyer of the house and shut the door behind him, the rest of his senses caught up with him and he picked up on what smelt like the heavenly and delicious aroma of dinner hanging in the air, and could hear the garbled sound of the television amongst the clanging of dishes in the kitchen.

"Kurt, sweetie? Is that you?" A woman's voice called out from the other room. That must have been Ms. Hudson, Finn's mom. Even without seeing her he could remember her stern, angular face offset by a pair of inordinately warm eyes from the days when he and Finn were in scouts together. It seemed like decades ago when, in actuality, it was less than one. She probably wouldn't remember him let alone recognize him had he been in his own body.

After all the crap he pulled on her son, he didn't exactly want her to.

"Y-yeah," Dave said, his voice wavering as he responded. Not confident that she heard him, he repeated _'Yeah'_ for a second time, and in what he hoped was a convincing tone, as he felt the voice that he emitted was horrifically high, even for Hummel's standards.

Looking down at the mat in front of the door, he wondered if he should take his shoes off. There were so many things, so many subtleties in regards to everyday behavior, that could give him away. He had to wonder how Lindsay Lohan's characters would have coped in real life had they really been twins who wanted to switch places with each other.

Dave was just glad he didn't have to worry about faking any British accents.

After realizing that the only pair of shoes at the front door were a particularly grungy and potentially oil-stained pair of work boots that he guessed belonged to the older Hummel ( _'Doesn't he own a tire shop?'_ he thought to himself), he decided that Fancy's black and white Chucks were not sufficiently dirty enough to cause any worry if he decided to leave them on.

Licking his dry lips, Dave realized this was he moment of truth and he took three, overly-cautious steps that made him feel like he was walking on landmines rather than a linoleum floor, and he passed the section of wall that separated the front entrance with the rest of the house.

As Dave warily stepped onto the carpeted floor, his eyes were met with the living room, just as he left it that morning when he had to high tail it to school, only now the couch was occupied by Ms. Hudson, who wearing less denim than what he remembered from when he was still a boy, and a man with a predominantly bald head, deep set hazel eyes, and a wide, pudgy nose. Dave didn't want to think he entered the wrong house, nor did he want to think Ms. Hudson was seeing someone on the side, but Fancy looked nothing like the guy sitting on the couch.

"Hey, kiddo. School go okay today?" The man - Mr. Hummel - asked as he looked up at him over the television set.

"Yeah," Dave said. It seemed his vocabulary was reduced to that one syllable word. He swallowed thickly. "It was fine." His ' _dad'_ , seemingly convinced, turned his attention back to the screen.

"There's leftovers from dinner in the fridge you can heat up, Kurt," Carole said from her spot where she was sitting next to Mr. Hummel on the couch.

"N-no. I mean... Thank you but, um... I think I'm just going to get ready for bed. I had a long day... And a big lunch, so I'm really not hungry," he stammered. Ms. Hudson looked worried; like her motherly instincts were kicking in and was worried he could be coming down with something. It was only about half-past-six, after all. Mr. Hummel, though worried, was clearly unconvinced, and Dave wondered how well the older Hummel knew his son; like he knew better and could tell when his son wasn't acting like himself.

"You got any homework to do?" Mr. Hummel asked, tilting his chin up with a suspicious frown on his face.

"No, not today." Dave shook his head.

"Any tests you need to study for?" He narrowed his eyes.

"No, Sir-Err... Dad."

Just as he felt as though he gave the two of them enough reasons to cause concern, another figure popped his head out of the door frame that led to the kitchen.

"Hey, is that Kurt? Oh, hey, man." Finn nodded his head on his direction. He must have have been the source of the noisy dishes because he was drying a plate with a dishtowel.

"Finn, be careful with that. That's the good china," Ms. Hudson said, turning her head to admonish her son and Dave took the bait. He called _"Goodnight"_ over his shoulder and slipped back into the hall where he pulled open the door that revealed the stairs that he knew to lead to Kurt's bedroom, leaving the older Hummel and Ms. Hudson to their bantering with Finn, who felt that just because Kurt didn't dirty any of the dishes didn't mean that he couldn't help.

Once Dave was on the other side of the door, he let his head rest against the sturdy material as he breathed a relieved sigh. That had been a close one.

* * *

Once Kurt pulled into the driveway next to the red, 2010 Lexus RX, he put the truck into park and killed the engine. Still tired, sore, and rather cranky, he lumbered out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut behind him before locking it. His mind was far too occupied with the way his ribs ached from all of the tackles he was forced to endure to be worried about meeting one Mr. Karofsky. He was a performer, after all; proficient in acting as much as he was singing and dancing, if he may say so himself, and he believed that he could pass for the man's son. Although he was curious to see what kind of man could raise such an inconsiderate teen.

As Kurt opened the door and stepped past the threshold of the house, he shrugged off the letterman jacket he was wearing.

"Hello!" Kurt called out into the still and silent house. Frowning, he cautiously poked his head into the kitchen before walking past the living room to find them both empty.

"In the office, David," a voice responded, making Kurt's heart leap into his throat. Despite the fact that the tone had a soothing quality to it, it seemed to command authority nonetheless. The voice seemed to travel from the upstairs landing, so Kurt took the stairs. When he made it to the second floor, his curiosity was peeked when he passed a picture frame hanging upon the wall and paused to look at it.

"Be right there," Kurt said, as he reached out to adjust the corner of the frame so he could see it properly without the light reflecting off of the glass. When he was able to see the subject of the photo, he couldn't stop the chortle that came out of his mouth and he had to slap a large had over his mouth to stop from making so much noise. In the photo was a rather stout boy of seven or eight years old. He was decked out in a navy blue uniform, and a blue and yellow baseball hat as well. The uniform was completed with little diamond-shaped patches and a little lanyard that hung off of the breast pocket, and not to mention the matching neckerchief tied around his neck. Kurt didn't realize until after he was smiling that he was staring at a young and rather adorable looking Dave Karofsky who beamed at the camera, obviously having no qualms about the gaping hole in his smile as a result of one of his missing incisor teeth.

David Karofsky was, quite literally, _such_ a little Boy Scout.

Kurt almost had to admit that the uniform made the younger version of Karofsky look rather fabulous and he couldn't help but wonder what happened over the years to make such a seemingly bright boy turn into such a sour puss.

"David?" Kurt was shaken from his thoughts at the voice coming from the only door of the left side of the upstairs hall. He knew the first door on the right was the bathroom and the second door a guest bedroom. He had to learn the hard way that the last door opened to reveal another set of stairs that led up to the door to Karofsky's attic bedroom. Being so used to waking up and having to walk up the stairs, Kurt was startled to find the exact opposite when he left the room that morning. It was a good thing that the realization of being in Dave Karofsky's body presented to him enough of a shock that he was wide awake, preventing him from falling down the stairs in a sleepy stupor.

Kurt followed the voice into the room to find it an office, just as Mr. Karofsky had said, and there at a cherry oak desk sat Mr. Karofsky, who sported an obvious resemblance to Dave from his long nose and face, to his wide build and thin lips. He seemed to have a good five years on Kurt's father, at least.

"I'm just filling out some papers for work," he said, eyes downcast as he flipped through a stack of papers. "You hungry? I was thinking about ordering some take out from that Chinese place you like." For someone Mr. Karofsky's size, Kurt was surprised he didn't find him intimidating in the least. His voice offered a soothing quality to it, like he rarely raised his voice.

"Oh, um... I'm kind of tired from practice. I'm thinking I'm just going to get cleaned up and do some reading before going to bed." Mr. Karofsky nodded his head slowly. His eyes seemed to have a consistent solemn look to them, which only made Kurt feel guilty for not wanting to have dinner with him, despite how busy he seemed at the moment.

"You said you have reading to do?" He asked with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Well, for classes..." Kurt explained. "My English and College Algebra book, for one." To hell if Kurt was going to get behind on his work just because he was in Karofsky's body. "Why?"

"Just because I remember how much you used to read." Kurt couldn't help but raise his eyebrows. It was difficult to imagine Karofsky reading anything that went beyond the back of a cereal box. "I've just... Been really busy," Kurt said, quickly saving face. "What with football and everything."

"Yeah," Mr. Karofsky nodded understandingly as he sat back in his office chair. Kurt felt as though he was being scrutinized under his gaze. "I'm glad we were able to have this talk, David. You've been so quiet lately, I was starting to get worried." Kurt frowned. "If you change your mind or if you get hungry, let me know, alright?"

"Yeah, of course," Kurt said, trying not to let his voice betray his confusion. Karofsky had been acting differently at home long enough to cause his father concern? He wondered why that was.

"Goodnight, Dad," Kurt said.

"Goodnight, son," he heard Mr. Karofsky say before Kurt retreated from the office, now more confused than ever.

* * *

Dave pushed himself heavily away from the door and he lethargically took the stairs one at a time until he was back in Fancy's room.

Although he was there that same morning, he really didn't have that much of an opportunity to get a good look at it, and, though he wasn't about to do a thorough inspection of his surroundings considering how tired he was, he did feel at liberty to scope the place out a little bit. He was the one in Hummel's body, afterall.

The place couldn't exactly be called girly. It was way too metro-modern for Dave's taste, but he supposed Hummel had a bit of a boner for that sort of thing. Dave's bedroom was definitely toned down in comparison. Surprisingly, though, the first thing that caught his eye amongst the carefully designed room was a plastic bag on the chaise lounge that he didn't remembering being there in the morning. When he went over to it and looked inside, he reached in and pulled out a purple, metal can.

 _Hairspray._ Finn must have told his mom how "Kurt" ran out. Not that there was much counter space left for yet another container.

Dave let the plastic bag float back down to the chair as he ignored the little pang in his chest at Ms. Hudson's thoughtfulness, even if it wasn't intended directly for him. Instead, he turned his attentions back to the bedroom.

There wasn't much else to see, in actuality. It was as though everything in Hummel's room had it's own secret little hiding place. All of his clothes were in either the closet or dresser, and no worn articles of clothing littered the floor, but were tossed into the clothes hamper. Dave wasn't surprised that Hummel would be a complete neat freak condsidering his demanding and pretentious personality.

Dave noticed the one thing that did seem chaotic amongst the pristine order of the room, and that was a picture holder that branched out like a tree, displaying numerous photos.

Dave reached out and plucked off the lowest picture, which depicted the Glee Club wedged against one another as they stood around a fairly large looking trophy. Dave briefly flipped the photo over as to see if there was anything written on the other side, and, just as he suspected, there was. Upon the dingy white photo paper and in blue ink and neat, loopy cursive read _"Regionals '10. Next year: All the Way to Nationals!"_ Dave scoffed as he turned the picture back around. Of course Dave heard how the Glee Club only made third place in their so called "Regionals" competition last year and how they weren't even able to move on to the next round. Just because the Glee Club was composed of a bunch of losers that nobody cared about didn't mean that nobody talked about them.

Looking at the picture, Dave had to wonder why they all looked so happy. They came in third! And yet Mr. Schue looked thrilled about that fact. If the football team ever lost a scrimmage match, Bieste would threaten them with drills to put them into place.

He hated how the first face his eyes drifted over to was Hummel's. Dave had a hard time believing that the picture was taken less than sixth months ago. Squeezed between the Berry chick and Lopez, Hummel looked shy and baby-faced, nothing like the way _Dave_ looked now, sporting a face that somehow managed to not only looked more mature, but somehow even more attract-

Dave shook his head as he dropped the picture on the table, not bothering to put the photo back in its place and turned around before walking towards the bathroom.

He tried to tell himself as he switched on the bathroom light sthat there was nothing wrong with referring to another guy as attractive. There was nothing wrong with noticing when someone has good genes.

Dave leaned on the frame of the bathroom door as he stared blankly at the face in the mirror staring back at him.

_But then there was Kurt Hummel._

A little over a week had passed since the single most horrifying moment of Dave's life and Dave spent that time trying to convince himself that the kiss between him and Hummel in the locker room had been nothing but a terrible dream.

He wasn't gay. He _couldn't_ be.

He and Hummel had nothing in common. Dave liked playing sports and getting dirty. Hummel kept his clothes pristine and he never had a hair out of place. Dave was more interested in action flicks and killing the terrorists in his video games.

But then again, not every straight guy played football, but the ones that did have some semblance of attraction to the opposite sex.

And that was where Dave fell short.

Dave exhaled heavily as he inched closer to the mirror. Hummel was... He was perfect, and Dave needn't be looking at his flawless skin and perfect pink lips to notice that. Everyday, Dave was plagued with the thought of Kurt Hummel since the moment he met him. It would have been easier for him to just go through high school having never spoken to the boy with the high-pitched voice who thought it was a good idea to wear a sweater that could have substituted for a dress on the first day of school, but after seeing how easy it was for Hummel to fit in and easily befriend people like Hudson and Puckerman without having to hide or worry about what he might be thinking about them... He hated him for that.

While Hummel was busy being happy, he had to hide; he had to worry.

Dave opened his eyes when he began to feel the dull pain radiating in his hands. He was so lost in his thoughts that he wasn't aware of how tight he was squeezing the hands into fists. He held his hands, palms up, to inspect them and was able to see the crescent indentations marring the otherwise flawless skin. He knew the markings would dissipate in a matter of minutes, anyway.

Now avoiding his reflection altogether, Dave walked to the tall cabinet on the far right and opened the uppermost door to find it contained three different stacks of towels. Grabbing a large bath towel as well as a wash cloth, Dave moved to the opposite side of the room and set the wash cloth down upon the corner of the tub and threw the towel so that it slung over the shower curtain bar. Dave reached past the shower curtain and felt around for the knob to turn on the shower. Once he found it, he turned it in increments, testing the water out every now and again in order to find his preferred water temperature.

Dave knew this moment would have to come eventually. It was difficult enough to change out of Hummel's pajamas that morning without feeling like a creeper, but he didn't know how having to take a shower -having to wash Hummel's _body -_ would play out.

Dave shrugged the unzipped sweater off of the shoulders that were much more narrow than his own. He toed the shoes off one by one as he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. Just as the room was beginning to fill with steam from the shower head and the mirrors began to fog up, Dave found himself standing in the small room wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

Dave knew that there was no controlling the way his heart beat exponentially increased. Dave had to swallow the lump in his throat at the sight of Hummel's skin - so flat, pale, and incredibly taut above the waistline. There was a small valley of flesh, that was probably the only body fat on him, that accumulated around the small section around waist and belly button. He was surprised to find just how very male Hummel was beneath all of the layers of clothes. Hummel hadn't taken the time to shave himself smooth like he suspected on more than one occasion. The hair on his body was a lighter brown than what was on his head, and it was scattered on his legs just as much as it was on his arms, and Dave couldn't help but be fascinated with the light trail if hair that started just above his navel and disappeared underneath the waistband of the boxers.

Underneath it all, Kurt was no different than Dave - aside from the obvious difference in size and skin tone, of course.

Tentatively, Dave let his hands rest upon either of his hips and slipped off the boxers, now looking everywhere except _down._

As Dave stepped into the shower, he wondered why he was going out of his way to pay Hummel so much respect by not ogling the parts of him normally hidden under his clothing. It's not like he was tempted or anything, but so what if he caught a glimpse of his junk by accident. It wouldn't mean anything, right?

Dave stepped into the shower and sighed as the heavenly stream on hot water pounded his body. And that was when he made his first mistake as he looked down to reach for the washcloth he set aside.

Unbeknownst to Dave, however, he wasn't the only one who had to resort to a cold shower that night.

 


	9. The One Where Kurt Gets Off (and Dave Doesn't)

 

Kurt felt dirty; and not in the hygienic sort of way. He did take a shower the previous night, after all, and just before falling asleep in Dave Karofsky's bed.

No… He felt _filthy_ ; immoral and depraved from the inside out. This wasn't the kind of grime that stuck to one's skin or found its way underneath one's fingernails. It was the muggy black haze that clouded one's mind and injected indiscernible impurities throughout every vein, artery, and corpuscle. The sort of filth that sowed guilt deep in the pit of his stomach.

But more than anything else… He was _aroused_ , and as he jerked off the thick, leaking cock in a loose fist, he didn't think there was a time when he was as turned on as much as he was now.

_And he hated himself for it._

He woke up that morning by the sound of Dave's phone alarm ringing and vibrating upon the bedside table, and amidst the incessant and irksome noise, Kurt's situation was obvious, and that situation was the monstrosity in Dave Karofsky's pants.

Kurt groaned as he stretched his arm out and fumbled for the phone, pressing the _cancel_ button before slamming the device back upon the surface. As he rolled on to his back once more, he pulled the pillow over his face before emitting a muffled yell.

He _hated_ this. Nothing about being in Karofsky's body was right nor fair, and when Kurt thought of all the maintenance that came with taking care of his own body, as well as the normal, daily routines such as emptying his bladder, showering and changing, he was mortified at the idea of having to enact all of those rituals as someone else; and even more than _that_ , he felt his stomach churn at the thought of somebody having to do the _same_ for him.

At first it was easy to go about his daily routine without paying much attention to the fact that he was in Karofsky's body, but then, it all became a little _too_ obvious to him.

Kurt, while in his normal body, wasn't someone who felt the urge to _take care of himself_ that often, so to speak. He tried watching porn, and on numerous occasions, but usually to no avail. The dialogue was often too crass and ridiculous for his tastes, and usually left him exiting out of the browser while shaking his head.

There was one thing that he _had_ noticed over the years, however, and that was his attraction to athletic, jock-type guys.

His first real crush on another guy was Finn, and he really couldn't blame himself for the feelings he once had for him. At the time, his naïve mind thought of him as a knight in shining armor; a leader ready to defend the rest of his pack, kind, and with an adorable, lopsided smile to boot. All of these characteristics, along with his tall and strong physique, didn't leave him with much of a chance.

Last night, though, as he was getting ready to go to sleep, Kurt couldn't help the mortification he felt when he found himself somewhat attracted to the naked body in the mirror before him. He would never say it out loud, and he wanted to slap himself for even thinking it (considering how Karofsky was just his bully), but he _was_ only human, and a gay man at that. He couldn't help the response he felt, which was _purely_ chemical.

The differences between Karofsky's body and his own were fascinating to say the least, and being curious was a given. While Kurt had always been pale, except for the fact that he easily and notoriously burned and freckled if he spent too much time in the sun, Karofsky's skin was a smooth, olive shade. His chest, waist and torso were broad, and his arms and biceps far more toned than what he believed was possible from underneath his baggy letterman jacket. After the startling revelation that Dave Karofsky was actually kind of hot, it wasn't a surprise that he had to resort to a cold shower last night.

He knew the cold showers wouldn't provide much relief in the long run, though.

Kurt closed his eyes as he felt his heart pounding in his chest. Even without looking, he could feel it: The ache and weight of the cock tenting his pants.

The thrum of the blood in his ears was a constant reminder of how much he disliked this person whose body he was stuck in. He tried to tell himself it wouldn't mean anything. For the past couple of weeks, and even the year before, Dave made his life hell, and if it meant not having to be miserable and practically in pain, even if it was only in that moment, Kurt was going to put a stop to it. He wasn't about to sacrifice his own comfort for the sake of Karofsky's modesty.

With that thought, Kurt found his hands pushing away at the blanket covering him until the black and red plaid fabric of the pants he was wearing were revealed, and he could already see the outline of the prominent bulge straining against the seam.

Kurt could feel his face flushing as he plucked at the tie at his waist. It wasn't like this was something he hadn't already _seen_. In fact, he got a good enough look at it the night before and… _Fuck._

Without wasting any _more_ time, Kurt slipped a hand past the waistband of the pants. He felt the light trail of hair, which disappeared below the fabric, tickle the palm of his hand until it found its way around the base of Karofsky's dick, and he let out a guttural moan as his head fell back on the pillow in ecstasy.

Biting his lip at the sudden jolt that spread throughout his body, coupling the arousal that he already felt, he used his other hand to push at the waistband of his pants until it was out of the way, and he quickly pulled the aching cock from out of its prison.

"Oh, God…" Kurt hissed as he pumped the shaft a couple of times before stopping to bring his large hand up to his face to spit in his palm. He groaned when wrapped his hand around the dick once more, marveling at the relief he was already beginning to feel as he slid in and out of his slick palm. Dave's hands were much larger than his, but than again, _most_ of him was larger, as it was.

Kurt let his other hand trail up Dave's stomach, pushing the shirt out of the way to reveal the thin stripe of hair that led to the larger patch that circled the base of his cock.

Speeding up his movements, Kurt's breath became ragged and his other hand, which seemed to have a mind of its own, found itself bypassing Karofsky's dick completely and he found himself rhythmically tugging and gently squeezing his balls and then...

"Hnghh..." he gasped, his mouth gaping wantonly as he felt as his entire body spasm. His toes curled impulsively as he felt the cock twitching in his palm. He gently stroked he neck of the cock with his thumb and first two fingers until, finally, long strands of cum painted his belly in opalescent white streaks. Kurt's movements eventually stilled in time with the trembling of the cock and he laid his head back on the pillow, feeling deliciously sated as he absentmindedly ran his fingers across his belly and through the sticky streaks that snagged upon the light dusting of hair that traveled down his torso.

* * *

Dave wasn't happy.

It wasn't enough that he woke up with a raging hard-on with no way to take care of it except for another cold shower, but he had to be woken up at precisely half-past-five by Hummel's alarm clock. After dismantling the alarm by pulling the plug from the wall, he attempted to fall back asleep. Hummel's body or not, he didn't need an hour-and-a-half to get ready, but it was useless. Now that he was semi-conscious, he could hear the sound of the birds chirping outside Hummel's basement window and smell of the coffee that wafted down the basement stairs as it percolated in the kitchen up above. Now that he was awake he might as well get up, as finding something of Hummel's to wear was a chore in and of itself.

Dave dragged himself about the room, showering just as he had that night before, the chilly water ran down his face and spine, feeling like pinpricks as it stung his face and chest. He pulled his towel off of the shower curtain rail and dried his face and hair and inconspicuously blotted off his legs, arms, and chest before wrapping the damp towel around his waist. Dave stepped out on to the rug in front of the tub, making sure his feet were dry before walking across the tile floor and leaving the bathroom.

When Dave was back in Kurt's bedroom, he strode to the armoire and wrenched it open, staring at the contents inside. Keeping in mind that Hummel _also_ had a closet, the clothes inside were jammed in side by side dangling neatly from the hangers. There were at least twenty pairs of pants and almost half were jeans. Dave was pretty sure that if he held up two next to each other, he wouldn't be able to spot a single difference between the articles of clothing.

With a sigh, Dave reached down and pulled open one of the lower drawers to the armoire and found the drawer containing Hummel's briefs. Dave wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he had always pegged Hummel as someone who owned a bedazzler, yet there laid Kurt's undergarments looking spectacularly boring and no different than the items in his own underwear drawer.

After he slipped on a pair of dark blue briefs, Dave pulled on what appeared to be the simplest pair of jeans that Kurt owned, which meant attempting to stuff his legs into the the human equivalent of sausage casings by hopping about the room.

They were _tight._ Dave couldn't understand how Hummel could wear something so confining every single day. Once he was able to get them on half way, Dave collapsed to the floor in a panting mess as he arched his back, attempting to pull them up to his waist. He struggled with the zipper, nearly getting Hummel's junk caught in its teeth, but was finally able to complete the grueling task by buttoning the top of the pants.

Dave shook his head as he clambered up from his position on the floor and tried to walk around the room like a normal person, rather than a mutated, two-legged crab. As much as he deemed Kurt to be effeminate and seemingly fragile, considering how he struggled with the concept of tackling another human being at football practice the other day, Dave had to hand it to Kurt: Only a masochist could wear pants like the one's he was wearing.

Now came the hard part.

Dave didn't know anything about clothes, and if he thought Kurt had a lot of pants, the top part of his ensembles were a different story. When it came to tops, Hummel might as well own the entire Lima Mall. Dave was at a loss as to what he should do. Of course his first thought was to burn the entire contents of Hummel's dresser, because nobody other than Liberace should own that many suits and in every spectrum of color perceivable by the human eye. His second thought was that even though he could think of a hundred things he would rather do than wear Hummel's clothes (like fly into the sun) he would also like to get through the day without having Tyra Banks and the asian, female Tim Gunn dress him up again.

That was when he saw the phone sitting in Kurt's desk, and Dave decided that this matter could best be resolved with a phone call.

* * *

Kurt knew he should get ready for school, but he was just so comfy.

Yesterday was stressful from the beginning and this was the most relaxed he felt in the past twenty-four hours.

Today was already looking out to be a good day, not counting the fact that no progress had been made in an effort to get his body back. Not that there was a question of _progress_ when it came to finding a solution to their problem; they either got their bodies back or didn't. There was no in-between. At the same time, though, Kurt didn't have to worry about football practice. In fact, he didn't even have to worry about Glee Club either, although he was sad that he wouldn't be able to see his friends once again. It was not likely that he would miss an opportunity to get any solos; at least, not unless that monkey flu he heard about on the news found its way to Ohio, infecting one Rachel Berry, but that didn't seem likely. Then again, neither did waking up in someone else's body.

As Kurt dangled precariously on precipice between sleep and consciousness the phone suddenly began to ring next to him, and he wondered with irritation whether he mistakenly pressed _snooze_ when he turned the phone alarm off just a few minutes ago. Reaching groggily for the phone, Kurt held it in front of his bleary eyes to see that _D_ was calling. Realization of what he had done hit Kurt like a ton of bricks as he looked down to see the cum that dried upon his skin.

"Oh..." Kurt whined, waving around the hand that wasn't holding the phone, as though he could simply summon a washcloth out of thin air. Could Dave _know_ about what he did. Kurt _had_ heard stories on the news about twins who could experience pain and other emotions by their siblings. While in each other's bodies, perhaps he and Dave could share the same thing.

As he stood up, taking the phone with him, he pulled open the door that led to the stairs and descended them quickly. When he reached the bottom he answered the phone, which was beginning to sound impatient with him.

"Yes, what? What do you want?" Kurt hissed as he opened the door at the foot of the stairs a few inches and staring out into the upstairs hallway before snapping it shut again.

 _"Hummel? Why are you whispering?"_ his voice questioned.

"Tell me, would your dad have left for work by now?" he asked quietly, not the least concerned about the reason why Dave was calling.

 _"Umm... Yeah. He usually leaves early to compensate for traffic. Why?"_ he added suspiciously, and Kurt could imagine him squinting his eyes despite not being able to see him.

"No reason," Kurt said as he slipped out from the stairwell and tiptoed to the bathroom, just in case Dave's dad was still there. He didn't hear any noise coming from downstairs; no water running, no sound of the television set or food sizzling on the stove. Just silence. He held the shirt away from himself so that he wouldn't get it in the mess he made. "Why are you calling?"

 _"Jeez, someone woke up on the wrong side of he bed this morning."_ Kurt heard Dave scoff.

"Well, what put you in such a good mood, Karofsky? Something you'd like to share with the class?" Kurt demanded. He could feel his cheeks burning and he knew that if he continued to project his anger towards Karofsky, he was bound to discover what exactly he had done. Just because he couldn't control himself didn't mean that Karofsky had gotten himself off as soon as he woke up, as well. Kurt breathed deeply, attempting to dispel his frustrations that he knew were only a result of their situation.

_"I'm not happy about this any more than you are, Hummel. Now could you just stop whining long enough to tell me what the hell it is I am supposed to wear so I don't have to ruin your precious reputation, but at the same time so I can get through the day with my dignity intact."_

"Yeah, okay..." Kurt said absentmindedly as he rummaged through the cabinet under the sink, looking for a washcloth.

_"Hummel, are you listening to me? What's that sound?"_

"Just the faucet," Kurt said, his voice raising slightly in nervousness, as he ran the washcloth under the warm stream of water, wetting the cloth. "What did you say? You want to know what to wear?"

_"Umm... Yes."_

"There's..." Kurt struggled to hold the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he wiped off his stomach. "In my closet there should be a brand new sweater. The one with blue stripes. Just wear something simple underneath it; black or white or whatever. I gotta go, okay?"

 _"Hummel, why are you-why am I-breathing so hard? What-"_ Kurt pulled the phone away from his ear and hung it up, dropping the washcloth into the sink. With a shaky sigh, he leaned with his hands gripping either side of the marble-covered counter and stared at the face in the mirror. If he thought yesterday had been a long day, he dreaded to think how he would get through today without constantly being reminded of his act whenever he happened to see his own face pass him in the hall, expression free of any of the shame he felt.


	10. The One With the Text Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost named this chapter "The One With Finn", but I thought "The One With the Text Message" would pave the way for the next chapter rather nicely.

Dave pulled the phone away from his ear after hearing the tiny beep. He stared at screen with a surly frown. Did Hummel seriously just hang up on him? The fact that the words _"Call Ended"_ blinked tauntingly at him confirmed this. He shook his head as he tossed the phone carelessly on the bed, wondering since when his _own_ body started menstruating, among any other reason that would cause Hummel to be impatient and so fucking hormonal, besides the obvious reason. He had only called to ask Hummel what outfit he should wear. The response he received was not one he had been expecting. Hummel seemed preoccupied, and Dave had expected him to be all over the idea of ordering him around… making him wear an outfit that could potentially scar him for life.

However, as Dave pushed some of the hangers out of the way in the armoire, he found the blue and gray striped sleeve of what looked more like a cardigan peeking out from between the copious amounts of clothes. Sweater… Cardigan… They were all the same thing, right?

Dave pulled the article of clothing from off of its hanger and held it up to his chest. He couldn't imagine wearing anything like this himself. The thin fabric would probably look strange stretching across his wide chest and shoulders, and the buttons traveling up the front would likely strain against his barrel of a belly, but, as he held it up to Kurt's body, he figured it was something that wouldn't be too embarrassing to wear in public. Like most of Hummel's clothes, it would probably just flaunt his trim figure more than anything else.

Dave threw the sweater on the bed just as he did the cell phone and began his search for a pair of pants and a shirt to wear underneath it. It didn't take him long to find a pair of pants that, though still skinny enough to look like they could suck the life out of him, were the baggiest that he could find. With a sigh, he tossed those on the bed, too, before pulling out the second of the two drawers where he knew Hummel kept some stacks of simple cotton undershirts. Dave discovered this the night before when he went on a search to find something other than Hummel's confining, long-sleeved pajama top to wear to bed. Though he couldn't imagine, or recall, Hummel ever wearing something so plain, Dave did recall Hummel telling him he could wear something simple under the cardigan he was ordered to wear.

Dave grabbed the black shirt on the top of the stack before closing the drawer shut. Walking back to the bed, he pulled the white one he was wearing over his head dropped it on the floor next to the nightstand. Next came the pants, which he kicked off on top of the abandoned shirt, creating a little pile.

Dave shook the jeans out before slipping one leg, followed by another, into denim holes before pulling them up. Much to his surprise, his legs did not feel like butchered chunks of meat being stuffed into sausage casings. They slid easily over his calves and thighs, until they finally settled on his trim waist.

Dave swallowed thickly at the sight of Kurt's pale torso; the way the rough waistband of the jeans hug the faint lines of his hip bones after he buttoned them up with clumsy, hesitant fingers.

Dave let his hands rest lightly on top of his lower abdomen in fascination. His breath hitched as the lean muscles jumped from the feeling of the cold skin of his palms upon the warm skin of his belly. Dave let his hands hover over his porcelain flesh with only the soft pads of his fingertips maintaining contact. As small goose pimples erupted over the skin that he traced over-and as his hands dipped lower, past his small, perfect little navel, down, skimming lightly over the most infinitesimal amount of hair that disappeared beneath the dark hue of blue fabric-Dave could feel his cock twitch with interest.

And then he stopped.

Dave clenched his eyes shut, grinding his teeth in frustration as he reached for the shirt on the bed and jammed it on past his neck.

What the ever-living fuck was he doing, creeping on Hummel's body like a pervert? It was so wrong, but at the same time he had a hard time ignoring the fascination he had with the foreign vessel he was in. Hummel had always seemed so dainty and girly—with the way he walked and dressed, to the sound of his voice to his stupid lips that, as it turned out, were not pink from lip gloss, but naturally so. So it came as that much more of a surprise to find out that Hummel was completely _male._

Dave huffed haughtily through his upturned nose as if this would rid himself of the impure, racing thoughts that somehow seemed to breach the forefront of his mind. He didn't have the time to let himself fall victim to any _temptations..._ and _definitely_ not while he was still in _this_ body. He couldn't imagine anything gayer than jacking off a dick that wasn't his own-attached to him or _not_. Besides... he still had to finish getting ready to face the day, for the second day in a row, as Kurt Hummel.

Dave looked at himself in Kurt's full length floor mirror, sweater in hand. While this look, as lazy and as much of a half-hearted attempt at looking decent as it was, would have suited him perfectly, he had to realize he _wasn't_ himself. Unless he wanted to hear Hummel bitch and moan, he would have to at least make some effort to look decent.

Dave slipped on his sweater and tried not to scoff at his reflection as he took in how much of a fucking hipster Hummel looked. Dave ran a hand through his hair and realized that that was one task Hummel had _not_ instructed him on. Dave shook his head as he looked on in the direction of the bathroom, knowing that it held enough product to do the hair of every contestant on _Miss America_. Dave wasn't going to begin to attempt to imitate Hummel's usual coiffed hairstyle. He didn't know why Hummel even bothered putting so much effort into doing his hair. Dave tugged on the lock if hair that swept across his forehead.

He almost liked Hummel's hair better this way.

* * *

Kurt went downstairs into the quiet kitchen after making himself look halfway decent, which was a difficult task considering the inordinate number of polo shirts that Karofsky owned. He did manage to find a respectable looking blue-and-white checkered, short sleeve button up that still had price tag was still on it. He put it on top a white undershirt and buttoned it up.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he was curious as to why Karofsky had yet to wear it. The way it was shoved all the way in the back of the closet led Kurt to believe this had to do with some dreaded case of receiving clothes as presents on Christmas. He hated to admit it, but he couldn't help but notice that it looked good on him-even if it _was_ Karofsky. The last thing he wanted to do was revisit what had occurred before Karofsky had called, but he was now, more than ever, aware of how much those saggy polo shirts had done the teen injustice. While it was obvious that Dave was a big boy-he i _s_ on the football team, after all-and maybe it was his own natural tendency to stand up straight and proud-but the outfit he had chosen for Dave Karofsky to wear made him look almost (dare he say it?) _dashing._

The self-loathing that still emanated within Kurt tasted as bad as bile on his tongue. What was he doing?Thinking that Karofsky could be anything other than repulsive? It was ridiculous.

Kurt shook his head mutely as he looked around the clean and quiet kitchen, wondering what he should do about breakfast. He hardly ate the day before and could feel his stomach rumbling, eager with anticipation at the idea of being filled. As he was about to open the fridge to find something he could make for breakfast, he spotted a square package of frozen hamburger meat covered in cellophane and, next to it, a note with a quick, untidy scrawl etched upon it. As he picked up the note, he noticed how the handwriting was like every doctor's note he had ever received. It took him a while to make out what it said:

**_David,_ **

**_I'll be home late tonight. One of my patients rescheduled. Left out some hamburger meat to thaw. Go ahead and make dinner. I should be home at around 8._ **

**_Have a good day at school._ **

**_Love Dad._ **

Kurt frowned. Patient? Maybe Karofsky's dad _was_ a doctor of some sort. He would have to investigate... or at remember to ask Karofsky what his father's profession was.

Kurt set the note back down on the counter and wondered if Karofsky ever got lonely. Kurt felt compelled to turn on the television in the living room to at least give himself some background noise. He was so use to being surrounded by noise; Finn's antics, his dad and Carol small talking in the wee hours of the morning, and just the general commotion and bickering of their two families still getting used to living together.

Kurt remembered what it had been like before he introduced his dad to Carol. It didn't seem quite as quiet as this. His dad would be there as he commandeered the kitchen, making breakfast for both he and his dad. Even after school he would go to the tire shop to help out. When he was still in grade school, he would ride his bike to the shop, as well, as it wasn't that far away.

In retrospect, his dad was what saved him from being so unbearably lonely before finding such good friends in the Glee Club. Kurt would have assumed a week ago that Karofsky was friends with everyone on the football team. Now that his phone wasn't being hit up with texts and phone calls, he was wondered if Karofsky was used to feeling as lonely as he did now.

Kurt shook his head. What did any of that matter? Karofsky and his stupid jock faux-friends, whatever they were, had gone out of their way to alienate him and the rest of the Glee Club since they joined. Why was he worrying so much about Karofsky's well-being when he never once considered his? Maybe Karofsky should experience what it feels like to be pushed into a metal locker by a football player.

_'No,'_ Kurt told himself. He wasn't going to stoop as low as to inflict the same barbaric acts on Karofsky just as he did with him. He was better than that.

Kurt's continuous stomach growls distracted him from thinking any more about Karofsky-until he opened the fridge door, that is. He found himself contemplating over the one part of the note that he had yet to consider: Karofsky knew how to _cook._

And here Kurt thought all cavemen hunted their food.

* * *

Once Dave was completely dressed, having put his shoes on and grabbed the shoulder bag Hummel usually brought with him to school (he wasn't going to forget that again), he found himself peeking out of the door leading to the basement. From there, he could see Hudson contentedly chowing down on a bowl of cereal. It was now or never, right?

Dave steeled himself as he walked into the kitchen, and Finn looked up.

"Mornin'," he said. Dave nodded silently in greeting as he turned around, grabbing a bowl and spoon from the dish drainer, as he wasn't very excited at the prospect of searching through numerous cabinets just to find what he was looking for. Finn continued to talk as he munched on his cereal.

"You slept in, dude. Mom and Dad already left for work... 'Case you were wondering."

Dave let out a noncommittal grunt, not sure what to say in response. Hummel's sleep schedule would take some getting use to.

Dave just realized how hungry he was. Despite his mouth feeling like it was filled with cotton from sheer anxiety, he felt hungry enough to eat the box the cereal was in-as long as it was followed by enough milk to wash it down. The box of _Fruity Pebbles_ was still on the table in front of him, as well as the carton of milk. As he reached for the cereal box, though, he missed the concerned look on Finn's face as the different multi-colored gems spilled from the box, making tinkling sounds as it filled his ceramic bowl.

"Um, dude..." Finn mumbled, the spoon hanging out of his mouth as he reached for the glass of juice that he must have poured for himself before Dave entered the kitchen. "What're you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Dave asked Finn haughtily. Dave didn't mean to be so testy (though he seemed to be doing a good job at pretending to be Hummel, even if he wasn't really trying), but sheesh... What did a guy have to do to eat around here? "I'm getting some cereal."

"Yeah, I see that, but... that's my cereal." Dave set the box of cereal back down on the table with a soft thunk.

"So... What? You can't share?"

"No, I mean... I'm just surprised is all." Finn ducked his head as he shoveled some more cereal into his mouth, milk sloshing back down into the bowl. "You always go on about how much sugar is in it."

"Well, I feel like being adventurous, alright." So apparently Hummel was a health nut.

_'That's just great,'_ Dave thought as he sat down and poured the milk over his cereal. _'Not only do I have to deal with being in the freaking Glee Club, but I'm also on Atkins.'_

_'Shit,'_ he cursed to himself in realization. He almost forgot he Glee today.

"So, um..." Dave started casually as he stirred his cereal. "Glee Club today, huh? That should be... Fun." Finn nodded thoughtfully as Dave raised the spoon to his mouth, munching on the heavenly taste of the sugary cereal in his mouth.

"Yeah, it should be interesting to find out what Schue has in store for us now that he's recovered from his flu. I'll miss Miss Holiday, though. I mean... It was nice getting to decide what we wanted to do, for a change. Not that anybody else got a chance to perform except Rachel, but..." Finn trailed off, obviously not wanting to speak poorly of his girlfriend.

"Right," Dave curtly. He had no idea that Miss Holiday had taken over while Mr. Schuester was sick. She had been a pretty awesome substitute teacher when she taught his Spanish class.

The two of them ate in silence until both of their bowls were empty and they were rinsing them out in the sink.

"So, you said you wanted to ride together to school. Dad said something about it being only a matter of time before you wanted to go green, right?" Finn asked, still bemused by the idea. Dave didn't see why they didn't go to school together in the first place. It seemed silly for them to take separate cars.

"Yeah, that's definitely the reason," Dave said dully, thinking ruefully about Kurt's stupid car and its stick shift.

"Okay," Finn said with a chuckle. "But you _do_ remember that I pick up Rachel on the way the way to school."

Dave sighed. Great. That was just great. Not only was he stuck in an annoying person's body, but he would have to deal with another annoying Glee Club troll and at seven o'clock in the morning.

"Yeah," Dave said, through gritted teeth. "I remember."

It was way too early for this shit.

* * *

Dave was glad that Hudson's truck had a backseat, unlike his own, because in no way was he going to share the front seat with those two disgustingly sappy individuals.

Although he was pretty sure she was in the same math class as him during their freshman year, this was the first time, and the longest time, he was in the immediate presence of Rachel Berry, and it seemed the rumors were true. She was loud, and the speed in which she spoke seemed to be directly proportional to the volume of the words that spewed out of her mouth. As much as Dave tried to tune her out as she cooed over her boyfriend driving the car, her irritating voice would creep into his eardrum, drawing him out of his reverie. Dave didn't see anything negative about her distracting Finn long enough for him to lose control and drive into a ditch. Maybe that would enough to put him into his right body, or at least in a hospital bed far enough away from her.

As Dave pressed his forehead against the cold window, he watched as his breath fogged the window as Rachel went on about Barbra Streisand's house and Oprah. Rolling his eyes at the sound her incessant voice that was like a cheese grater against his brain, Dave drew a little frowny face in the condensation on the window, and then he heard the muffled sound of a cell phone on vibrate, which, thankfully, interrupted Berry's tirade.

"Is that yours?" Finn asked Rachel, who shook her head. She pulled her cellphone out of her just to make sure.

"No," she said. "Must be Kurt."

"It's me," Dave sighed in confirmation. He fished the cellphone out of the bag, assuming it was Kurt trying to contact him, but he was wrong. When he looked at the screen it said:

**Text Message from Blaine**

**_Hey! :)_ **

Dave felt his stomach drop as he read the message, as short as it was. He knew it would happen eventually, but he wasn't entirely hopeful about the prospect of receiving Hummel's messages; especially from _this_ guy no less. Dave had to assume that this was the same guy, along with Hummel, who confronted him on the stairwell. He felt irrationally angry as he stared at the smiley face. He felt like it was mocking him, as it perfectly contradicted the one on the window that he drew just a few moments ago, which was already beginning to drip down the fogged glass.

"So, who was it?" Rachel asked, turning around. Obviously there was no such thing as personal space, let alone minding one's own business, when it came to her. She fluttered her eyelashes, thick with mascara, as she waited for "Kurt" to respond.

"No one," Dave said softly. He turned the screen off to the phone and shoved it back into the bag. "Wrong number."

Rachel smiled concededly as she turned back to face the dash, and Dave turned his head back towards the window, the thought of deleting the text weighing heavy on his mind.


	11. The One With the Slushie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I would just say thanks again for all of your kind words in regards to this story. There are some days where it seems like finishing this story is an impossible feat, because it is seriously the most complicated thing I've ever written (kudos if you notice Kurt throwing shade to their situation in this chapter, because that is all me), but when I think of all the wonderful people who are giving me their time to read and review, it just means the world to me and gives me all the more reason to keep going.
> 
> That brings me to this: There's a good chance you will be hating me by the end of this chapter. There are no warnings, but you might be questioning Dave's actions, for sure. Trust me when I say the trials our boys have in this story will be worth it for the tribulations, and things will definitely get worse before they get better (and then worse and better again).

As Finn stopped at the red light just one mile from the school, Dave was certain (and not to mention hopeful) that Rachel had dropped the subject in regards to Kurt's little boy toy. He wasn't very keen on talking to Hummel's Glee Club pals about the pretentious dick who had the nerve to act like he knew anything about him. Not _alone_? The hell he was. In no way was he about to pop in some show tunes and tap dance his way into loserdom. Fuck that shit.

And he _wasn't_ gay.

But while Rachel seemed less likely to push the topic, Finn had other ideas.

"Hey, Kurt?" Dave could see Finn frowning thoughtfully at him in the rear view mirror. "What happened to that guy you have been talking to? The one you met while you were spying on the Warblers?" Dave gritted his teeth as he looked out the window.

"What?" Rachel demanded accusingly as she spun around once more, clutching the back of the seat enthusiastically. "Why didn't you say anything? What's his name? What does he look like? Is he gorgeous?"

"Um... Boyfriend. Right here. Behind the wheel," Finn said meekly as he accelerated through the green light. Rachel waved him off, not even sparing him a second glance.

"I didn't _say_ anything because it doesn't _matter_ ," Dave said rolling his eyes. He looked past the foggy glass of the truck window and attempted to count the leafless trees as they blurred by; anything to prevent himself from blowing his top and launching himself into the front driver seat on top of Finn in order to make him regret saying anything.

"Doesn't _matter_?" Rachel gaped like a fish struggling for breath, her glossy lips opening and closing. "He's not _straight_ is he? Is that what you mean?" Dave's eyes flickered momentarily towards Rachel once more to see her frown, her expression resembling that of a sad puppy dog, compensating for Dave's complete lack of interest.

"He's about as gay as the fourth of July and with an outfit to match and it doesn't matter because I'm not interested. All right?" Dave snapped quickly and Rachel recoiled slightly.

"But you've only been talking about him all this week. And I thought you said something about you guys going hanging out this weekend. You were so excited. Did he cancel or…?" Finn trailed off, as entirely confused as Dave was.

"I… I have a date with him. Like… A date?" Dave said, deadpan.

"Well, you said you were only going as friends, but… Wait? Why am I telling you this? I've never met the guy," Finn scoffed.

"I… I must have forgotten. Busy week, you know." Although Dave was still attempting to process the information that Finn just revealed to him, he knew one thing for certain.

He was going to kill Hummel.

* * *

Once Kurt hopped out of Dave's beaten down truck he smiled and breathed in the crisp morning air deep into his lungs. Today could be worse, he considered as he pulled the book bag securely over his one shoulder. Sure, he was still stuck in Karofsky's body with no clue yet as to how he was going to get his own body back, but it was almost the weekend. After tomorrow, he wouldn't have to deal with Karofsky for two whole days, and maybe in that time he would be able to relax and take his mind off their situation—at least long enough to figure a way out of this mess. As for today, he didn't have Glee practice or football, for that matter. By the look of it, he would be sailing smoothly through the day.

After Kurt locked the door and slammed it shut, he turned to make his way through the McKinley High School parking lot when he heard a voice call out to him.

"Yo, D! Hold up!" Kurt turned around, stopping at the tailgate of his truck to see Azimio Adams squeezing between Karofsky's Tacoma and the F-150 parked next to him. Upon closer inspection, however, Kurt flinched involuntarily at the sight of what he was holding in his hand.

"Dude, chillax," Azimio snickered. "This ain't for you." He took a long draw from the straw poking out of the Big Gulp he was gripping with one meaty hand. "Speakin' of which… Where's your ammunition, man? It's almost 8 o'clock." Kurt frowned.

"I don't know what you're…"

"Slushying us some loser freaks?" Azimio interrupted, filling in the awful gaps for him. Would that mean Kurt would have to slushy his friends while he was in Dave's body?

_No._ Absolutely _not._ He was not about to sink as low as to slushy any of his friends, and especially not this early in the morning. Kurt couldn't bear the idea of having to sit in sticky clothes all day, and he hoped his friends were as prepared and kept an extra set of clothes in their locker in the off-chance their faces met with the icy drink.

"What's goin' on with you this week, D?" Azimio glared at him suspiciously, as Kurt, himself, warily eyed the drink in Azimio's hand. Kurt wasn't even aware that the 7 Eleven sold slushies this early in the morning. "You're killing me." Azimio looked over Kurt's shoulder as he shook his head.

"Whatever, man,"Azimio said dismissively, somewhat let down that only one person would be the target of a slushy facial that morning. He ducked slightly behind Kurt as he tore the lid off with the straw still stuck in the middle of the plastic and dropped it inconspicuously on the asphalt between them before pushing past Dave. "There's Hudson, Berry, and the Fairy Queen. In no way am I going to let this perfectly good slushy go to waste."

Kurt was about to point out the complete lack of logic in Azimio's statement. Kurt didn't even like slushies and he still couldn't imagine buying one just for it to end up dripping down upon a person's shoes and on the floor. He gaped helplessly instead. He couldn't decide on whether he should pick up the litter left by the Neanderthal or else do something to try to stop Azimio as he headed ominously towards Finn, Rachel, and Karofsky—overtly looking like himself—as they headed towards the school, and as Kurt turned around to see Azimio lumbering in the direction of the three, he knew exactly who would be covered in blue dye no. 1.

* * *

Dave wasn't sure what he noticed first, the raucous laughter or the flash of electric blue followed by the feeling of a million needles poking his flesh. He opened his mouth in a gasp, but the air caught in his chest as he felt what had to be small shards of ice sliding underneath the sweater he was wearing.

He couldn't tell what was going on around him. The last thing he wanted to do was open his eyes. From behind him, however, he could hear Hudson yelling at Rachel to let him go, and in front of him he could hear the familiar, cackling laughter of his best friend followed by what sounded like a plastic cup falling to the ground.

"What the hell, Azimio?" Hudson cried out behind him. Of course he would be the one to get slushied instead of the other two. As soon as he was out of the car, he was adamant to get away from Finn and Rachel by walking ahead of them in the parking lot, and that was when, suddenly, Azimio slid right out in front of him from behind the mini-van.

Dave could taste the cold, sticky sweet raspberry flavored syrup in his mouth, and as he raised his hands to wipe away at the globules of ice from around his eyes, he could hear Azimio respond.

"Obviously we're gonna have to do this more often if you're gonna forget who's in charge around here. Next time my boy D is gonna to be my back up, so don't think you two are getting off easy this time." He gestured towards Finn and Rachel. "Come on, man." Dave blinked a few times, his eyes burning not nearly as much as they did before, but he noticed, now, that Azimio wasn't alone. _He_ was standing there—Hummel—looking at him with a stony expression that not even he could place.

"What the hell are you still doing here, Karofsky?" Dave heard Finn practically growl, but he had already set off towards the school, the syrup on his hands already causing his fingers adhere uncomfortably with one another, unaware of the gaze from his true form as it intently followed him.

* * *

Kurt didn't know what prompted him to go to his locker as soon as he walked into the school; his _actual_ locker, not the one he was pretending was his.

He made sure none of his friends were around as he discreetly spun the dial, entering his combination. Inside the locker were all of his items—books, pens, hairspray—as he left them. He _did_ give Karofsky his combination the night before. There wouldn't be any reason for his belongings to be missing and he wasn't surprised when he found the neatly folded wife beater and black button up shirt still neatly folded on the top shelf. With a sigh and a serious question of his sanity, he reached for the articles of clothing before slamming the locker shut and replacing his combination lock before setting off for the boy's restroom around the corner.

When he opened the door to the bathroom, he heard the sound of water and saw his figure hunched over the sink. Although he knew it was Karofsky in his body, watching himself attempt to remove the concoction from his face (before it stained his porcelain skin blue enough that it would make him look like Violet after she chewed the three-course-dinner gum in _Willy Wonka_ ) was like reliving every slushy facial he had ever received, although the process of him cleaning up wasn't nearly as bad as seeing the surprise on his own face when Azimio threw the slushy at him. Kurt disregarded any feelings of sympathy for Dave as sympathy for _himself_. He would almost feel bad for Dave, but the fact that Karofsky never once gave slushying people a second thought only made him pity the other teen. He was, however, dismayed at one other fact.

"I didn't even get a chance to wear that sweater," Kurt spoke up, leaning against the tiled wall next to the automatic hand dryers. Dave didn't even look in his direction. In fact, he only shuffled over towards the paper towel dispensers, water dripping from his bangs and into his eyes as he pulled four sheets successively from the dispenser before wiping his face. "It's Gucci too. I spent good money on that," Kurt added with a sigh, and he knew it didn't matter to Dave at all.

"Come to gloat?" Dave grunted in a way that was foreign in Kurt's ears. Instead of answering, he held out the shirts.

"Here," he said, pursing his lips. He looked down and noticed a few splatters on his jeans that Dave was wearing. "I don't have any jeans here, so you'll just have to do your best to blot that out."

Dave looked at the shirts suspiciously as he ran the towels over his head, mussing his hair, before reaching out and taking the clothing from Kurt without a word. Kurt's hand dropped lamely to his side as he watched as Karofsky slipped into one of the empty stalls.

He knew that should have been the end of it. He should have left by then. Karofsky obviously wasn't going to thank him for his good deeds, and, in all honesty, he wasn't expecting him to. There was a part of him, though, that wanted to witness Karofsky go through what he was faced with at least one day a week; how much time and energy—physical and emotional—he spent on dealing with the ignorance and sheer maliciousness of other people, but maybe, if he wasn't going to receive a thank you, he could ask expect something else from him.

"Do you have anything you want to say to me?" Kurt asked into the thin air. He might as well be talking to himself, despite the fact that he knew Karofsky could hear him perfectly fine as he changed, throwing the soiled tops to hang over the stall door.

"Like what?" Kurt scoffed mutedly at Dave's response.

"Oh, I don't know. An _apology_?" Kurt could almost feel the thick vein in Karofsky's forehead about to burst. He never felt so angry in his life, not counting the time that he chased Karofsky into the locker room—that was only one of the many contributing factors that got them into this mess.

"Why the fuck sould I apologize?" Dave's voice was muffled, as if he was in the middle of putting on one of the clean shirts Kurt gave him.

"I thought it wouldn't be completely crazy for you to feel an ounce of regret in regards to how you've treated me now that you've received a taste of what it's like. How was your first slushy facial, _David_? Did it hurt like a bitch?" Kurt questioned in a sickeningly sweet voice.

"In case you didn't notice, Hummel, I've never slushied you."

"Well, your so-called friends have!" Kurt pointed out shrilly.

"They're big boys, they can take care of themselves."

"I can't believe you." Kurt felt sick to his stomach. He didn't think it was possible for someone to be so unremorseful. Suddenly, the door swung open and he lifted his head, and he only wished that looks could kill.

"Why are you still here?" Dave hissed as he stood in front of the stall wearing the clean set of shirts Kurt gave him. Kurt hated the fact that he wore his clothes, the fact that his $300 sweater was completely ruined and the fact that Karofsky could care less. Kurt ground his teeth together impatiently.

"Should I leave?" Kurt gasped mockingly. He placed his hand dramatically on his chest, certain that it would piss Karofsky off further. "It's not like I have anywhere I need to be. I mean… You're not exactly as close to the jocks on the football team as I thought you to be, and Azimio had no problem leaving you behind in the parking lot."

"Fuck you, Hummel." Karofsky flushed. He pointed a finger threateningly in Kurt's direction. "Azimio slushied you. Not me. Alright?" Karofsky snatched the clothes hanging from the door. Kurt fumed.

"I'm not talking about you _me_ , you idiot. I'm talking about _me_ you.. _._ God, this is irritating." Kurt rubbed his temples. He took a deep breath in the hopes it would calm him down. "I'm talking about the fact that Adams just completely abandoned _me_ in the parking lot."

"So, what are you trying to say?" Kurt could feel the anger emanating from Karofsky despite the fact that they were standing on opposite ends of the restroom.

"I'm saying that maybe if you didn't try to hide who you were so much, you would actually have friends."

* * *

Dave could see the immediate regret in Kurt's eyes after the words left his mouth, and Dave sure as hell wasn't going to act like they stung.

"You wanna talk about friends, Hummel? It's not like any of yours are here, helping you clean up," Dave said in a deadly quiet voice. He watched Kurt struggle to find a response to that.

"Well, maybe had you not run away from them, like you run away from everything, they would have—F-Finn and Rachel." He could see Kurt swallow thickly as he attempted to mask the hurt look on his face. "Besides, I have Blaine, he…"

"That little hobbit?" he spat, taking a step closer. "Why the hell would he care about you? You've known him for what…? A week?"

"He helped me, like we tried to help you!" Kurt cried helplessly and Dave laughed mockingly. He thought about commenting on how outing him in the stairwell could have helped him, but Dave couldn't help bubble of jealousy that was about to pop in his chest any more than he could help the lie that bubbled past his lips.

"What makes you think he gives a shit about you when he hasn't even called or text you since we switched bodies?"

Dave thought going off on Kurt would make him feel better about the fact that he didn't have any friends to be concerned about him, no one in his life who sends him smiley face texts, and no one to try to fight his battles in the way Finn tried to fight Kurt's. So it didn't come as a surprise when Kurt's chin quivered momentarily before turning sharply around and exiting the restroom, leaving Dave as alone as he ever was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to Dave never slushying Kurt. I know there's a good chance that Dave did slushy Kurt in "Audition", or at least tried to, I'm choosing to ignore that fact, at least for now. I'm still certain that he missed on purpose. I think Dave is too stubborn to use the good ole "I had something in my eye" excuse, because Dave totally hit the wall instead. Just sayin'.


End file.
